


Divided

by forthelongestday (ftld)



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 96,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftld/pseuds/forthelongestday
Summary: "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." — Carl Gustav Jung
Relationships: Peter/Bella Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes from future-ftld:
> 
> I'm not really sure what to say about this one. I started writing it in 2012, wound up leaving the fandom before I finished it, and didn't wrap it up until May of 2020 when the entire friggin' world exploded.
> 
> The title of this fic (and a lot of the inspiration for it) came from the song [Divided by Tegan and Sara.](https://youtu.be/7QGMb13Q3ds)
> 
> Originally beta'd by SweeneyAnne.

_Edward's mouth brushed once across her neck, like a caress. The squealing clamor coming from Seth's efforts covered every other noise, so there was no discernible sound to make the image one of violence. He could have been kissing her._

_And then the fiery tangle of hair was no longer connected to the rest of her body. The shivering orange waves fell to the ground, and bounced once before rolling toward the trees._

―Eclipse, pg. 534

* * *

I exhaled the fear built inside me. It was over.

Edward moved in tandem with Seth, graceful in their task to collect the scattered, bleached chunks of flesh. Pieces of what used to be people. I had never understood what exactly the word dismemberment had entailed. My stomach lurched and my vision swam. My eyes struggled to keep track of Seth and Edward's rapid movements. A moment later, the scent of blood wafting through the frigid air crashed into me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I could no longer maintain my composure. There would be time for humiliation over my weak stomach later.

Victoria's head lolled in the snow―her eyes wide and blank―watching me as I shifted my weight back and forth… back and forth… I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't look away.

Edward and Seth piled up piece after piece and set the whole pyre aflame with the single flick of a lighter. Sparks shot out from the base, and a black smoke towered into the sky. It smelled foul, noxious—like it would contaminate me if I took too deep a breath. For just a moment I could hear the shattering of glass and boards being ripped from a floor. Phantom lava raced through my veins.

Victoria was gone—I had never watched someone die before. I doubled over and heaved.

I couldn't breathe.

"Bella, love?" Edward called from across the crowded, snow-littered clearing. He glanced down at my arm: I was still bleeding. Little drops of red crawled down my fingers to drip onto the snow. Blood spattered across white used to be the most violent and gruesome image I could conjure, but the flames of the pyre warmed my skin in a nauseatingly welcome way that redefined that absolute. I felt sick.

Edward spoke again; I hadn't noticed him come closer. "I'm going to dress this, alright?"

A soft tear competed for my attention, but couldn't keep my vision from shifting between the blood dripping from my fingertips and the fire raging far too close to me. I was in shock, I had to be. I couldn't feel anything but that murderous heat chasing away the chilling wind as my heart pounded away. It was like I was half an inch underwater, desperately kicking my legs to keep from drowning—every gulp of air seasoned with salt water.

Edward used a piece of his shirt to tie around my arm, and another to wipe the blood from my fingers. That one went straight into the fire when he finished. He kept talking. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was nervous. Snippets of words echoed between us; foolish, surprise, tactics, fine. I didn't understand how he could think to use that last one at all.

With effort, I tore my attention from the fire long enough to look Edward in the eye. Worry creased his forehead, and a frown pulled at his lips. The moment our eyes locked, he leaned in and kissed my forehead with that light touch I loved. Time slowed to a crawl, my breaths came easier. Edward whispered against my skin, "It's almost over."

Then, without warning, the world around us sped up again.

Edward tore himself away from me in the space of one blink. He stood by Seth with a fearsome look on his face, his eyes unfocused. "No! _"_

Seth whimpered and began to pace while my mind struggled to keep up with the abrupt shift in atmosphere.

" _No_ ," Edward repeated, harsher. "Don't― _Go_ , Seth!"

Seth threw back his head and howled into the sky before bolting through a gap in the trees. Before I knew what had happened, Edward started pulling me through the woods toward another tower of smoke.

More words came spewing out of him, explanations perhaps, although I only caught half of what he said until Jane's name splintered the air. Her smile burned in my memory, as vivid as the wind cutting across my cheeks. When Jacob's name passed his lips next, my heart stopped and I finally understood. We were rushing because of the Volturi, but Seth ― Seth was afraid for his brother.

Edward paused and turned to grip my shoulders. "Are you with me?"

I nodded, the action entirely reflexive. We had to get to the others.

* * *

When we arrived at the clearing, it felt like it had been weeks since we'd left the comfort of the Cullen's house. I searched for Jacob, but there were only the shadows of vampires standing in a loose circle around the fire, voices too soft for me to hear. Alice smiled with forced ease. "He'll be okay, Bella. They took him back to La Push, but he'll recover. Good as new."

"Are you sure?" My throat ached, dry and irritated from the smoke. Edward relaxed next to me, and I realized those were the first words I'd spoken since Victoria had found us. He'd been worried.

"Yes. Carlisle saw to him." Alice nodded firmly, but her demeanor shifted in the next moment. She repeated, "It'll be okay, Bella."

Her last statement sounded broader.

"How bad is he hurt?" I asked.

Alice faltered for a moment; Edward took the opportunity to answer. "He broke a few bones, but they were already mending by the time the others left with him. Alice is right: he'll be fine."

There was that word again. Relief washed through me, but respite was fleeting. A greater fear came straight after — rushing through me and erasing my composure. Alice whispered, "They're coming. Two minutes."

A trembling growl echoed from the opposite side of the fire, and my breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of the girl cowering in Jasper's shadow. She was dirty and wild with tangled hair, and dirt streaking her face between glowing red eyes. She glared at me ― hard, cold, vicious ― hungry with a need that I couldn't grasp the complexity of. She was a warning, an omen of what was to come. If I squinted just right, she looked like me.

"She surrendered," Edward explained from my left side. "Don't be afraid. Jasper will keep her in control."

As if to punctuate Edward's assurances, Jasper growled right back at the girl trembling in the dirt beneath him. Jasper's was a fierce rumble that shook the ground and distorted the air as it erupted from his chest. The girl quieted, but her needy eyes never left mine.

Alice grabbed my hand in hers. "They're here."

Five shadows spilled from the trees; the smallest sent shivers down my spine. I would never forget the malicious lilt to Jane's stride. She appeared disappointed to see us all whole and undamaged.

Jasper took a step away from the girl when Jane's eyes settled on her, and adjusted his stance to allow himself a full view of all present. Emmett shifted a little closer to me, his sight, too, focused squarely on the Volturi. Their defensive behavior did nothing to quell the unease rising in me. Panic began spreading through my limbs. I concentrated on breathing in soft, even measures, while Jane talked to the girl in a low voice, too quiet for me to make out.

Something terrible was about to happen. I could taste it on the tip of my tongue and feel it in my fingers and toes.

Jane smiled, and I jerked my head away so fast the girl hadn't even screamed yet. My first instinct was to look toward Edward, to find some slight reassurance in him, but his face was emotionless. He watched the production as if it were of no more interest than the grass shivering in the breeze. The girl's screams shredded the clearing, and no one made any move to help her ― they didn't allow the slightest frown to pass their lips ― except for Jasper. Jasper, who had his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched so hard I thought for a moment he might shatter his teeth. Jane let up, and the moment the girl stopped screaming I watched Jasper's nostrils flare with a noticeably deep breath. I wondered if he felt like I did, or if it all he felt was Jane's gift slicing through the girl.

"What is your _name?_ " Jane demanded. "Who created you?"

Jasper's reaction was an anchor—the only point I could focus on in this sickening hurricane. I kept my sight trained solely on him, and did my best not to listen to the conversation being had between the Volturi, Carlisle, and Edward. It wasn't exactly soothing, Jasper's reaction, but at least he'd had one. Now that Jane had let up he was just as stoic as the rest of them, but there was something there in his narrowed eyes, so subtle I couldn't place it. It made the events transpiring less horrific, if only by a fraction. At least I wasn't the only one of us too weak to keep my face blank and emotions hidden away.

A sudden movement caught my eye; Felix strutted around the barrier of the fire. Jasper made short and quick strides closer to Alice, Edward, and I, and a moment later Felix stalked towards the girl. They intended to kill her.

"Don't watch," Edward said, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear him even though his lips were only an inch from my ear.

I didn't answer, and I didn't comply.

The girl screamed and howled; Felix seemed to take a severe amount of pleasure in her destruction. The bonfire erupted into an inferno when Felix threw her still squirming limbs into the flames. A shriek pierced the air so intensely that I worried I'd lose my hearing.

I couldn't look away from the fire any more than I could stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't explain it; there was something in me that didn't care if I didn't know her, or that if it hadn't been for Jasper, she would have tried to rip my throat out. She was just a girl ― or at least she used to be ― and she deserved a witness in her final moments. She deserved a sad face somewhere in this sea of apathy.

Jasper stepped closer, his eyes focused over my head toward Edward, and after they settled their silent conversation, he moved closer to my side. His hand splayed over the small of my back with pressure so light, I might have imagined it. Jasper hadn't touched me once in over a year, not since Phoenix. I'd expected a torrent of calm, or maybe a measure of sedation ― instead, I felt a swell of pride and sympathy that bubbled and ebbed away as quick as it came, and then nothing but a tangled web of black confusion and sadness threaded over a core of rage, clawing its way from where his hand touched my shirt.

* * *

The world kept spinning, time kept marching. Conversation and argument swirled around me and through the clearing, as thick as the towering plume of smoke. The last of the screams died, and ashes fluttered through the wind.

Hours later, I could still hear screams ringing in my ears.

Alice's curtains shivered in the unseasonable chill. I should close the window, but that would involve moving. It would involve thought and purpose: engaging in anything of the sort would surely break the cautious equilibrium of staring at the ceiling, reviewing the subtle imperfections of the paint above my head. The harder I concentrated, the less room there was for terror piercing my eardrums and the acrid stench of smoke.

How Edward could watch something like that happen and then walk away was unfathomable. I'd already showered three times since leaving the woods; I'd never be clean again. I could swear there were ashes glued to the inside of my lungs: my inhales stuck just the slightest bit before I could breathe back out. My world was falling apart at the seams. Throughout the morning and afternoon that small, teenaged girl set ablaze had plagued me, and how could it be I was the only one? No one mourned her.

Edward didn't understand. Or, maybe he didn't understand to the extent I needed him to. He seemed to think I smothered myself in some fear of him, and after I made a lone attempt to convince him that wasn't the case, he left me alone with Alice. I thought she probably had a better idea of what was haunting me. I couldn't be sure; I wasn't paying all that much attention to her, anyway.

Bottles of nail polish littered the bedspread. Alice sat on the floor, busy painting the nails of my hand hanging off the mattress. How could Alice care about makeup after what had happened out in the woods? The events weighed heavily on my heart, on my soul ― I'd never really believed that it was there until today. Not until I felt it crushed.

"Stop pushing her," Jasper said, leaning against the door frame. He'd come out of nowhere. "Give her some space, Alice."

"It's fine," I mumbled, my gaze falling back to the little bottles scattered over Alice's bed.

"Just one more coat," Alice conceded, her hand settled on my knee. "I only have to do the topcoat, and then we'll be finished."

The door latched shut without another word from Jasper, and Alice got to work on finishing my nails.

"I know it's hard," she murmured. "But you'll be okay. You always are. No matter what happens, every time I see you, you're okay."

"What do you see now?" I asked, at first out of courtesy to keep our conversation going ― but once the question had formed, I was immensely curious to know the answer.

"Many things." Alice smiled. "Whatever this is, it will pass."

Something rose inside me at her assurance, some vicious and black offense that consumed me in the span of a second. "I don't want it to pass. I never want to forget this. _Someone_ should remember."

Alice paused and then set down the bottle of polish. "I didn't mean it like that."

It wasn't right to snap at Alice like this, and soon enough, I had guilt contending for my attention as well. "Sorry."

"It's okay to feel broken up about it, Bella. What happened today, none of us ever wanted you to see something like that."

"But that's the reality you live in, isn't it?" It was a challenge, and one Alice backed down from.

"Sometimes." She said nothing else on the matter.

Alice tried to convince me to stay, but wasn't surprised that I couldn't. The moment she freed me from her clutches found me fleeing from the Cullen house on far sturdier legs than I knew I had. By the time I got home there was just one clear thought in my mind, and I latched onto it with desperation, hoping it would chase all the horrors clinging to me into the shadows.

I needed to go see Jacob, to see with my own eyes that he was, indeed, okay ― but there were pretenses to keep up. There were lies that needed to stay viable. I had to wait for Charlie to make it home before I could leave. He had to see all the bags and the hair and makeup job Alice had done; he had to believe that I'd been shopping with her this whole time. I had no idea when it was I became this person who lied to her father so much. All that deception was leaving a nasty taste in my mouth.

The ceiling in my bedroom was much less effective than Alice's, and it held little distraction from thoughts of Jacob.

I was eighteen years old, and not forty-eight hours ago I'd agreed to marry a man who had lived so long and seen so much that he was completely unaffected by ripping a woman's head off and setting her body ablaze. I was no fool ― I knew it was her or me ― but I hadn't known I would be present when it happened. I had always known that they were going to kill her, but that knowledge hadn't ever solidified into reality. The rest ― the newborns ― all those people who had their lives ripped away from them with no warning, they were all dead, too. It didn't feel like my fault, but it felt like my burden. I'd been so naïve to think this horrible thing would happen off in the shadows, and I'd never have to truly acknowledge it at all.

Suddenly, the potential, endless years stretching out in front of me seemed so vast. They would be filled with pain and hard choices, leaving the people I loved, and death ― so much death. I hadn't understood that last part before. The blankets bunched between my fingers as I looked to the empty rocking chair in the corner, wishing for answers when it had none.

The sound of the front door slamming brought me to my feet and down the stairs before Charlie had the refrigerator door fully open. It was almost time for dinner—I could have us both fed and Charlie in front of the TV within thirty minutes if I tried hard enough. I could be in La Push within the hour.

"Hey," Charlie said. He pulled a beer from the bottom shelf and turned to appraise me. "You look nice."

I didn't even remember what I was wearing. A dress, apparently.

"Alice." It was all the explanation he needed, and I breathed a sigh of relief that Charlie wasn't going to ask too many questions.

"You hear what happened to Jake yet?" Charlie asked, and I nodded.

"Did you see him?"

"Yeah." This was one of those times when I wished Charlie wasn't a man of so few words.

"How is he?" I pushed, hoping for some bit of good news to get me through the drive to La Push. It came out as less of a question and more of a demand.

"Hollering, mostly." Charlie shook his head. "Dr. Cullen said he'd recover just fine, though."

"Good." I let out the breath from my lungs in a single gust, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I'd never felt so relieved in my life.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked, his brow furrowed.

I wanted to say that no, I wasn't even close to being okay. That I still heard screams and desperate pleas for asylum thundering in my head every time I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to wander, but Charlie didn't need to know that. "I'm fine."

It was obvious that he didn't believe me.

"You can talk to me, you know?" Charlie's voice was gruff and strained as he narrowed his eyes. It felt like he was dissecting me, trying to figure out just what in the world might have happened in two days to cause whatever little signs I was giving off that told him I wasn't doing so well. I was almost disappointed that he wouldn't ever be able to figure it out.

"I know."

"Alright. Whenever you're ready, then." Charlie gestured towards my jacket and keys still on the kitchen table, waiting. "You going to see Jake?"

"Right after dinner." I darted to the refrigerator. Sandwiches. I could focus enough for sandwiches.

"I can fend for myself. Go on, I know you won't believe he's okay until you see for yourself," Charlie nodded toward the door.

I needed no more encouragement.

* * *

Jacob's house was suspiciously clear of visitors. It took near a full minute of sitting in my truck to realize that everyone must be eating dinner, like Charlie and I had been about to. The lack of bystanders made it both harder and easier to get out of the truck cab and walk through the front door. No one to hide from, but also no one to press me forward.

Jacob looked better than I'd imagined. Instead of being covered in plaster and bruises, he was wearing braces and had a glassy look in his eyes. Alice hadn't been kidding when she told me Carlisle was having trouble figuring out how to medicate him.

"I didn't think he'd let you come," Jacob said, his speech slurred and tired.

"What?"

"Ed-ward," Jacob clarified, an overlong pause in the middle and last syllable drawn out. "Thought he was sure to be pissed. Keep you locked up in that ivory tower."

"I don't know― Oh." In all the musing I'd done over the course of the day, I hadn't once thought about the kiss. "I'd forgotten about that."

" _Wow_ , Bella."

"I was more worried about whether or not you were going to live—I haven't gotten to worrying about the rest, yet."

"Was he mad?" Jacob asked. He seemed to be coming out of his haze.

"No. I kind of wish he had been."

"Masochist," Jacob accused, rolling his eyes. "So that was pretty much a waste then, huh? 'Least I got to kiss you once without you breaking your hand on my face afterwards."

"Jake―"

"I get it. You don't want it bad enough."

"That's not exactly what the problem is." My smile felt plastic and awkward; a lie on my face to match my words.

"Are you still going to marry the leech?" Jacob asked with narrowed eyes. I got the distinct impression he was weighing his odds.

"Edward," I corrected quietly, unsure how much to tell him. The rest of the pack would know everything as soon as he phased, and I didn't know if I could risk my uncertainties spread so wide. Edward deserved to hear this from me, not plucked from the errant thoughts of werewolves. "I haven't exactly gotten that far yet."

"I don't get it." Jacob sighed. "I could... we could be good. We could be _so_ good. Nobody sees it but me."

"I think Edward can kind of see it, too," I mumbled. "― I don't know. I think I'm too far gone."

"You just _had_ to go and fall in love with a friggin' vampire." Jacob laughed and then groaned; whatever cocktail Carlisle had prescribed was wearing off.

In another time and place, it could easily have been Jacob I fell in love with—I could see it with frightening clarity—but that wasn't here, and it wasn't now. "You're always going to be my best friend. Always. And if I marry Edward, then you'll be my best man, if you want."

"That is so unfair. You can't ask me that when I'm high." Jacob chuckled and shook his head at me. "It's cheating."

"Well, let's just say I learned about that from you."

"D'you want to talk about it? Whatever it is that has you so tangled up that you forgot about that epic kiss I planted on you? It was a good one, right?"

I sighed. Everyone kept asking, but I didn't know what to say. "No, I don't want to talk. Not right now."

"How about the gist?" Jacob prodded.

I nodded. I could deal with generalities, maybe. I could at least try. "There were… Some really upsetting things happened after you guys left. Before you left. The whole thing was kind of disturbing."

"How so?"

"I- I didn't realize how violent it would be. I thought that since Edward and I were away from the action, it wouldn't be so… much." The explanation was vague and unsatisfying.

Jacob understood what I was getting at, even through his haze. "So, you're upset because the _vampires_ and _werewolves_ were trying to kill each other, after they all explicitly told you that would be the case?"

It sounded nuts when he put it like that. I was embarrassed for myself.

"Even I didn't realize you were that naïve." Jacob cleared his throat with gritty, deep coughs, and after a moment he sank a little further into the pillows and blankets on his bed.

"This is why I didn't want to talk about it," I protested. I sounded so weak. So small.

"You know where I'll be when you do." Jacob's eyelids started to droop, and I decided that was my cue to head back home.

The relief I felt knowing Jacob was okay was short-lived. Back in the car I felt closed in. The darkness outside pressed from all directions; my high-beams cut a narrow canyon forward, encouraging my foot to press heavier on the accelerator. My vision swam, the light narrowed—I had to pull over to try to catch my breath.

It hadn't felt real until now. It was just some sickening scene in a horror film I hadn't been able to turn away from, but second by second the reality of what I'd watched happen came crashing in harder. The steering wheel felt cold under my forehead as it vibrated in time with the engine. The sob that tore its way through my body left me cold and shivering. I was helpless to stop any of it. I couldn't do anything but grip the wheel tighter and weep.

The creak of the passenger side door wasn't surprising. My shoulders slumped and my heart ached, and Edward pulled me across the bench seat to bury my face in his chest. "Shh, love. It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine. You'll see."

I couldn't stop sobbing long enough to tell him I wasn't so sure I'd ever be able to believe that again.

I forced myself to inhale, long and shaky, and the smell of him instantly soothed the wound inflicted on my heart. In some deranged way, I hated him for it. If I couldn't find anything in myself to keep going, what good was I? If I didn't hurt for that girl who I couldn't stop seeing as some twisted version of a future me, then no one would. Still, I pressed closer, let Edward hold me tighter. I was too weak for anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

Normal had become a relative term in the time since I'd moved to Forks. Normal, I had decided, was Edward's crooked smile: always thinking of what the future held for us. Normal was the certainty that we had one path towards our happily ever after, and the certainty that eventually, Edward would come to understand this.

It was normal to have nightmares that drenched my sheets and sent a terror through me so deep that I woke up screaming. They used to be of Victoria, or of Edward leaving; now they were of a small girl with a dirty face; that tiny thing that shattered the blinders I'd worn since coming to Forks.

The dreams came quicker and harder than before. The smoke strangled me, the screech of ripping flesh pierced clear through my head. My chest throbbed and I couldn't breathe ― and by the time Edward managed to wake me I would be sweaty and shaking with uncontrollable ferocity. It was impossible to explain what terrors came searching me out while I slept. He probably didn't realize these nightmares were any different from the others, and he didn't understand my sudden shyness. In Edward's arms, the comfort I found was undeserved. It was cheating.

And here was where the normalcy melted away: it wasn't normal to have nightmares every night ― not since Edward had come back ― and it wasn't normal for him to be unable to soothe me in an instant. His presence was meant to be a balm, some wonderful cocktail that instantly washed away the rest of the world. Now, the magic of it had gone. The smell and feel of him did nothing until I gave myself over to it. Instead of processing and dealing with the things that disturbed me so much, I had to admit that I clung to Edward to forget — and what good did that do anyone? The only thing this accomplished was making me hold him tighter, to further wrap myself in him to survive. This fantastic world I had found myself in, perhaps, shouldn't be so easily confused for normal.

I felt weak and rebellious; like I was itching to shed my skin just to see if I would become something more. With Edward, there was never any reason to find these things in myself. I couldn't help but think I shouldn't need him like this. I shouldn't be so desperate for his comfort that without him nothing could calm me. Every time the walls started closing in, Edward was there. Was this the kind of normal I wanted for eternity?

Then, without warning, it all fluttered away. His smile sent fewer butterflies loose. His touch felt colder. Every time he guarded his expression or evaded a question, I remembered that look on his face out in the clearing, and I couldn't stand it. I became the one to look away first.

* * *

Suddenly, it had been two weeks. Fourteen days instead of nine. Endless hours of sitting with Edward on his couch, or letting Alice experiment with my hair and make wedding preparations. Day after day spent at the Cullen house playing games with Emmett or sitting in uncomfortable silence with Rosalie. In the kitchen, I cooked with Esme. Carlisle and I read in his study. Jasper ― Jasper watched. He melted into the background of every setting and observed while I did my best to pretend that nothing had changed. His presence was a weight I could feel on the very edge of my periphery, a constant reminder that this was futile, and that nothing was the same. Jasper had never spent this much time in the same room as me.

"I think we should string up lights in the front, too," Alice stole my attention from her husband by prattling on about something or another involving the decorations. "But then we'd have to order more of them, and they wouldn't come in for another week. It'll be okay, though, I'll talk to Edward."

"Sure," I mumbled. The more she talked about the wedding, the more wretched I felt.

"We're going to head up to Port Angeles in a bit to look at flower arrangements; we can talk more about it then. The flowers are really the important part. They tie everything together."

I had to talk to Edward. This was moving too fast; I couldn't get married in a matter of weeks. Maybe I should get in the truck and flee—not look back until I was a thousand miles away. Maybe somewhere on the endless pavement of the highway I could finally think clearly. The need for space grew every day, and I didn't know how much longer it would be before I'd do the very same thing Renee had done all those years ago. It seemed I was more like my mother than I'd thought.

Alice's hand laid over mine, stilling the unconscious twirling of the ring on my finger.

"Sorry."

"It's all right."

"So—" I wasn't sure what she'd been talking about. "Shopping?"

Alice scowled at me in the mirror. She tried to hide her amusement but didn't quite pull it off. "You think that's all I talk about, don't you?"

"And make-up." I smiled, feeling lighter. "And my hair. My God, Alice, you've been doing my hair every day for nearly a week now."

"Fine, you just so happened to be right; we were talking about shopping. But it was a lucky guess, and you know it." Alice huffed, but her lips never turned down. She muttered to herself. "I talk about other stuff."

"Like shoes," I pointed out, and Alice tugged the brush through my hair a little harder than necessary in retaliation. "Fine. You also bring up your car a lot."

"My car is awesome."

"Your car was bribery, and I still don't appreciate what you did to get it." That act was one in a sea of many that had made me feel little other than smothered for months on end.

"I suppose I need to reevaluate my opinion of the wolves, but I stand by my reasoning." Alice's nose wrinkled in distaste.

I didn't answer. I still hadn't completely forgiven her for sending out the wedding invitations without telling me first. More and more I felt my choices slipping through my fingers. For nearly every decision I had to make, conscious or otherwise, there was a vampire standing by, telling me what I should do. And right behind those dictating my every choice, there stood Jasper, a constant promise that my frustrations were never private.

"I wouldn't go that far," Edward said, and I glanced up into the mirror to smile at him the best I could. I hated that it was so easy for him to sneak up on me.

"How many times do I have to tell you that Jacob would never hurt me?" I shook my head and received an irritated tsk from Alice.

"Thousands, love," Edward answered, coming to stand by my side. He leaned down to kiss the top of my head, only for Alice to shoo him away.

"Her _hair_!"

Edward chuckled and kissed my forehead instead. I reached out a hand for his, and he leaned against the bathroom counter. Everything felt different. Off, somehow. I gripped his hand tighter, as if that would somehow bring the spark back, but his cold hand against mine only brought chills.

Edward waited while Alice finished pinning tiny locks of hair into place, and before I knew it she'd dumped my purse in my lap and gathered her own.

"I wish I didn't have to share you so much," Edward said. He bent and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and there was no denying it ― he was still very capable of making me swoon.

"Oh, don't be dramatic." Alice scoffed. "We'll be back before you know it. She can survive one day without you, you know."

"You are hiding something from me," Edward accused with narrowed eyes in her direction.

Alice laughed, pleased by the accusation. "I am hiding a great many things from you, dear brother. Deal with it."

Edward turned his attention back to me. "Hurry back."

"Yeah."

It was moments like this, when he touched me so soft and let his lips linger on mine, that it was easy to love him. Right then, there was nothing in the world but Edward.

"Ready?" Jasper asked, stepping away from the wall and bringing his presence into the foreground.

With effort, I turned away from Edward to ask Jasper, "Are you coming with us?"

"We need someone to carry all the bags," Alice said with a shrug. She had that diabolical little smile on her face that meant everything was proceeding according to plan. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she was up to. She spun on her heel toward Edward, cutting off his objection with a finger wagging in the air between them. "And no, you're not coming along. If you're there, we'll never get all of our errands done."

Edward wasn't happy with the arrangement, but in the end he knew it wouldn't do him any good to argue. After a lingering look toward Jasper, he released me. Alice herded me straight into the passenger seat of Carlisle's Mercedes, no time for other distractions.

* * *

Jasper didn't insist on driving like I expected him to. He sat in the back seat, quietly watching the scenery pass for the entire trip up to Port Angeles. Only the telltale slam of his door when we arrived reminded me of his presence. He fell into step behind us, and it wasn't until we'd walked through the entryway of the mall that Alice turned to her husband with a wry smile on her lips.

"Why don't you take Bella to get something to eat," she suggested. "Then come and find me when you're done."

Jasper nodded before turning to me. "Is that all right with you?"

It couldn't be normal, how touched I was that he asked. The past year and a half I'd felt like I was being pulled and pushed in every direction ― told who to be friends with and when to spend time with them. Jasper gave me an odd look when I nodded. I couldn't even imagine what sort of crazy emotions I was putting out there.

"It's fine. I am kind of hungry."

Jasper pressed a sweet kiss to Alice's lips, and I looked off to the side; I never felt comfortable watching their affection. Everything between them was so intense.

It wasn't until we settled at a small, round table—taller than it was wide—at the far edge of the food court that I felt nervous. I had spent little time with Jasper and virtually none alone with him. He always kept his distance, both before and after my disastrous eighteenth birthday. Why he agreed to some alone time now was a mystery; it couldn't be for anything good. I ate in tense silence as I waited for him to get the ball rolling on whatever caused him to look at me with such appraisal.

"Are you waiting for me to ask you if you're okay?" Jasper asked, his head tilted to the left and a sad amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"Everyone else does."

"I'm not everyone else." Jasper shrugged. "I don't have to ask. I know you aren't."

I was suddenly terrified he'd tell everyone what a liar I was. "The others..."

"I haven't said a word."

I let out a breath, thankful that at least I wouldn't have an entire family of vampires trying to fix me.

"Alice knows something is going on, but only because she saw that I was trying to decide how to approach you without arousing suspicion." Jasper explained with a dismissive wave as if were of no consequence, and after a moment I figured he was probably right. Alice had orchestrated this meeting of sorts between us; I couldn't imagine she would have cooperated if either of them intended to tell Edward that something was wrong.

"She planned this?" I asked, just to be sure.

Jasper smiled fondly and glanced in the direction Alice had left in. "She thought it would be good for us to talk, without prying ears."

"About what?" I asked, melancholy creeping into my mind. I could barely figure out what I felt for myself; the prospect of trying to explain it to someone else was beyond daunting.

"About whatever you would like to. You know my story. You know what I used to be. There isn't anything you could say that would make me think less of you. Even if your most horrible thoughts could compete with mine, who am I to judge?"

I considered Jasper's offer far longer than I needed to, and he waited patiently as I swirled my fries in ketchup and finished my soda. It would be good to talk to someone, and I believed Jasper when he said he wouldn't pass judgment, no matter what came out of my mouth.

"I still have trouble believing it." I kept my attention focused squarely on the half-eaten plate of french fries in front of me. The ketchup reminded me far too much of blood. My stomach churned, and I tossed a napkin over the plate and pushed it away.

"I knew that she would die. It was me or her, and I thought I was okay with that. I guess..." I trailed off, lost for a way to put into words something I'd tried so hard not to think about. But it was there, right on the tip of my tongue; it was the complete truth, and it made me nauseated. "I don't think I saw her as a person before. I didn't realize that dying for her was... well, dying."

In the very top of my vision I could barely make out Jasper watching the crowd pass behind me with an easy detachment as he waited for me to continue.

"I don't know how I feel about watching it happen. And Riley... he didn't know what he was doing, not really. He was a victim, too ― I don't know if I should feel bad for him."

Jasper shifted his gaze back to me. "We should always pity and respect the loss of life, Bella. Always. That is what makes us human."

"You don't agree with Edward? That you're monsters?"

"No, I don't," Jasper answered. "We see, we feel. We love. How could we be monsters other than by choice? Nothing is inherently evil. Everything is made."

"That girl..." I squeezed my eyes shut in a vain attempt to keep the tears at bay.

"Her name was Bree," Jasper said, his eyes locked on mine. To him, it was important to use her name.

"I can still hear her screaming. I can smell her burning. She haunts me."

"Me, too."

"I think watching that happen broke me." It was something I never imagined I'd confess. It was impossible to bridge the chasm that scene had split in my heart.

"You know that if I had it my way, we would have killed her immediately," Jasper said. He waited for me to nod before continuing, "Now that I've had the time to look at the situation from another angle, I think that was wrong of me. It was sloppy to allow a surrender, but it was the right thing to do. I respect Carlisle for being able to see that, given the situation we were in. He saved me from doing something I would have regretted."

"You don't think it would have been merciful to end it quick?"

"You mean to ask, would I have been any more kind and considerate in killing her than Felix?" Jasper clarified, and I nodded. "No. I don't think I would have. She certainly would not have been burned so soon."

"You're not really making me feel any better." His perspective wasn't bothersome, but rather curious. Everyone else tiptoed around me; there was something comforting in talking so plainly.

"I figured you'd had enough of platitudes. The truth is that Bree would have died a painful death, no matter who did it. That it wasn't me only makes us feel better."

"I don't feel better. It's still horrible," I argued.

"Yes, it is," Jasper agreed with a nod.

"Why didn't anyone try to help her?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I'd been over all the conceivable reasons none of the Cullens did anything beyond talk to try to save her, and trying to rationalize it broke my heart night after night.

"I think any of them would have if there had been anything to do, but you need to understand that there was no hope. The Volturi had decided to kill any newborns they encountered long before they showed up."

"Nobody seems to care," I said quietly. "I look around, and I'm the only one who is any different."

"We've all seen far more gruesome scenes in our times on this earth. It is…" Jasper paused a moment to consider his explanation. "It is sad that we can make such claims. We are desensitized to death and destruction, even Carlisle, even Esme. That was not something new for us; we've all inflicted much worse."

"And someday that's going to be me, too."

"Perhaps." Jasper shrugged his shoulder and went back to watching random people mill about the food court. "Your situation is unique ― you have the gift of knowing what it is you are walking in to. I used to think you also have the advantage of choosing this life for yourself, but you don't sound so sure anymore."

"Eighteen used to sound so old," I muttered. The crowd was endless, a steady stream of people caught between wandering and rushing. They were all going somewhere, and it struck me as incredibly sad that they were all out in the world trying to run their lives while I was trying to run from mine. "Being sure, it used to be all about Edward. I'm older than him; we can't really be together until I'm like him. He was everything."

"And now he's not?"

"Now I'm not sure if I want to be like him. That look on his face… I can't believe none of that bothered him."

"It did, actually. Edward was very upset with what happened that day." Jasper pursed his lips and again seemed to consider what to say next. This time it took longer before he continued, "Edward has mastered the art of keeping himself in check. A side-effect of his gift, I think. For Edward, everything is more complicated than it is for you, and even for me. He can't give away his reactions so easily."

I couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into my tone. "I've noticed."

Jasper's voice took on a tinge of sympathy. "He doesn't seem to understand how it affects you."

I picked up my napkin and tore it into strips as I considered how to phrase what else I wanted to ask him. There was so much rattling around inside my head; I didn't want to waste this opportunity to ask bold questions of someone who wouldn't try to spare my feelings in answering. Talking to Jasper was nice in that way. He didn't hold back.

"With Alice… does it ever feel like there's not much of a you without her?" I asked.

"Is that how you feel with Edward?"

"I guess." I shrugged, aiming for an easy indifference, even though I knew I'd already given away my hand. "I kind of resented it before, all those times Edward or Alice, even Rosalie, would tell me that I'm young, or that I have so much left to see of the world. Turns out they're right."

"I happen to agree with them on that point. You are very young, even from a human's perspective. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is when your fiancé will always be seventeen years old," I pointed out.

"Is that why you're in such a hurry, when you have so many doubts?" Jasper asked.

I hated that he'd seen so much. "It felt like the only way to start our lives together, and I wanted ― want ― that. Very much."

"But you still aren't sure."

"I don't think I'm ready to marry him." The words were floating between us before I'd decided to say them. My eyes flew to Jasper's, wide and horrified.

"Then why haven't you called off the wedding?" Jasper asked. His nonchalance regarding the bomb I dropped on him right in the middle of the mall's food court helped me regain some of my composure.

I looked back down at the plate of cold fries sitting in front of me. "Because I'm a terrible person."

"It will only hurt more, the longer you wait. What is that expression you have about the band-aid?"

"Ripping off the band-aid," I answered with a sigh.

"I never understood that one."

"It's like―" I glanced up; Jasper smirked at me. "Never mind."

"What is this really about?" Jasper asked. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Is this about him, you, or your relationship? Which part gives you all these doubts?"

I didn't have to think about how to answer that one. "Me."

"What about you?"

I pulled my lip between my teeth and stared out the windows lining the food court. To verbalize the churning in the pit of my stomach would be impossible. Eventually I settled on something broad, but true. "I'm not sure who I am, as a person, by myself. I'm scared that if I'm not defined, then I could turn into something I don't want to be. I don't want to wind up like Bree, or like Victoria. I don't even want to be like Edward. I just… I want to be able to look at myself and say that I'm still me; only I don't think I know who I am. Not yet."

"Reasoning like that is why we all have such a hard time remembering that you are so, very young sometimes." When I looked back at Jasper, he had that sad and sympathetic smile on his face again.

"Edward's going to be so upset with me. After all we went through… and Alice is already shopping for flowers and my Mom and Phil already booked their tickets."

"Forget about that," Jasper said. He held his arms up, palms flat and facing inward on either side of our table — a figurative barrier to keep our conversation free of outside influences. "Stop thinking about what everyone else expects of you. What do you want?"

This question was easier to answer than it should have been. "I think I want to get away for a while. I need a break, some downtime, to process everything that's happened."

"You are aware that may be easier said than done." Jasper leveled me with a heavy look. His outstretched hands fell flat on the table.

I sighed and looked away. "I know. The Volturi―"

"The Volturi will be satisfied enough with the news of your change. If that's not something you are ready for, then getting away becomes less of a vacation, and more of a hide-out. I don't know when they would decide to come checking on you. Under normal circumstances they would give you years ― but Jane was far too interested. They're curious, and it goes against their nature to let us continue to escape their ruling."

Jasper paused before adding, "Given the situation you are in, I think leaving town is wise. At least, until you come to terms with becoming one of us, or hiding for the rest of your life. The Volturi are reasonable, but they've already done you one favor, which is more than the vast majority of humans receive."

"I kind of worked myself into a corner, I think."

"A bit." Jasper said. "I'm not saying that it would be impossible, just that if you want to get away for a while, then we would have to be cautious. I can't in good conscience stick you in your truck with a handful of cash and tell you to drive in whichever direction you please."

"All right," I agreed after a moment. I was past ready for a change of subject. "May I ask you something, now?"

"Of course," Jasper said with a short wave of his arm to continue.

"Before, Edward never wanted you alone with me. Especially after — well, you know. You always seemed to agree with him; what's changed since then? Why aren't you keeping your distance anymore?"

"You are not the only one who learned something from that battle. I, for example, learned that control is not as simple as the presence of blood." Jasper nodded toward my arm as he spoke.

"I was bleeding," I realized. "You touched me…" It was like seeing the entire scene from a new angle. The way Edward had held Jasper's gaze for just long enough that I noticed the near caution in Jasper's stance. If I hadn't been there, I might not have believed it.

"Yes."

"I'm so proud of you," I blurted out, struggling with the intense desire to give Jasper a hug. He probably wouldn't take that very well.

"I don't need your pride, but thank you all the same." The casual dismissal wasn't offensive; Jasper was simply letting me know that he was proud of the accomplishment, too.

A quiet spread between us, and I found myself staring out the window again, digesting all we'd talked about. It was hard to wrap my head around. It was all so frustrating and confusing; I didn't know what to think about any of it. I felt trapped.

"I didn't even want to get married in the first place." I crossed my arms and glared at the tabletop. It wasn't really true ― but there was a variant I hadn't ever seen before that was now staring me in the face. I wanted to be with Edward forever, but I didn't want to be frozen as who I was now.

Jasper chuckled. "I know. He really shouldn't have kept asking, but Edward's always been a persistent thing."

"Like Alice," I teased, smiling for the first time in what seemed like hours.

"Exactly like Alice." Jasper laughed. "I have to admit, though, I quite enjoy thwarting her."

"You'll have to teach me how to do that, sometime."

Jasper grinned, but before he could agree he was cut off.

"You two are taking far too long," Alice said from behind me, and I spun in my seat to see her standing with her hands on her hips and an amused smile on her face. I had no doubt she'd planned her return to coincide with this moment. "Really, how long did you expect to keep me waiting for?"

"My sincerest apologies, ma'am," Jasper drawled, a wide smile reserved for Alice alone across his face.

"Good talk?" Alice asked, pulling up a seat next to mine.

Jasper shrugged. I appreciated that he wasn't going to give her specifics.

"Excellent." Alice bumped her shoulder against mine and grinned. She looked pleased with herself; she always did when one of her plans went off without a hitch.

"You're not mad?" I whispered. "You don't hate me?"

Alice threw her arms around me in a tight hug and whispered back, "Never."

"What about all the wedding stuff?" I hated that she'd already spent so much money on an event that didn't look like it would happen.

"I didn't buy much," Alice promised. "And it's all returnable, so don't worry."

"I didn't know you even understood the concept of returns."

Alice laughed and pinched my arm in retaliation before taking my hand in hers. "I've had to learn a lot of strange concepts since meeting you."

"Have you seen how it will turn out?" I asked. "Is it all going to be okay?"

"You know that's not how it works. You have to make up your mind first, and I wouldn't tell you even if I did know."

It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I could grudgingly accept that she was right. "I guess I have to talk to him, huh?"

"That would be a good start." Alice squeezed my hand and stood, pulling me along. We started making our way back to the car, Jasper once again falling into his role of sentinel a few paces back.

At the Mercedes I paused with my fingers on the door handle and turned to Jasper. "Thanks. For letting me talk, for listening."

"Anytime." Jasper climbed into the backseat in one smooth motion, and I took my seat up front. The drive back to Forks couldn't seem longer, and still it went by far too quick.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a fierce part of me that wanted to put off talking to Edward for at least a few more days—but when we returned to the Cullen house and Edward smiled at Esme's mention of wedding decorations, I knew I couldn't leave him hanging. Edward was genuinely excited to get married, and it was cruel of me to be so cowardly. I should have said something the moment my insecurities solidified into doubts.

I had nothing to add to the conversation, so when he offered, I let Edward drive me home.

"How was your shopping trip? Did you enjoy yourself?" Edward pulled the car out of the driveway and sped toward my house. The rain fell harder against the windshield as he accelerated, and I watched the little drops whiz down the glass before getting swept away by the wipers with a near obsessive zeal.

"It was good," I answered, unsure of how much I should give away. I didn't want to lie to him. "I got to talk to Jasper, that was nice."

"And Jasper behaved himself?"

I shot a glare Edward's way, only to find him smiling; he was teasing me. "Of course he did. I hadn't realized how far he's come."

"He has done exceptionally well lately," Edward agreed. "What did the two of you talk about?"

This was where it got tricky. The scenery rushing by offered no suggestions for how to start the conversation I knew we needed to have. "He gave me some advice about how to deal with what happened in the clearing."

Edward nodded in the corner of my vision. "I know that has been hard on you."

"Among other things," I added, unable to settle into a comfortable conversation.

Edward didn't say anything else until he shifted the car into park just past my driveway. He reached over to grab my hand, and when I looked up, his eyes held nothing but concern. "Are you okay?"

Full disclosure would be best. "No."

"Should I be worried?" Edward asked. I wasn't brave enough to admit he should be.

I pushed the car door open without waiting for Edward, and walked up the sidewalk to the house, knowing he would follow. Once we stood face to face in the kitchen, I found myself at a loss; I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to do this in my bedroom. I didn't really want to do this in the house at all, but I figured that it was better to ensure he had an escape if he needed it.

"We have to talk," I started lamely.

Edward regarded me for a moment before taking a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing for me to sit across from him. My nausea eased; he was going to take this seriously.

I wasn't prepared for how hard it was to say, "I'm not ready to get married."

Edward's face fell for a split-second before he regained composure and folded his hands in his lap. "Have you decided you would rather build a life with Jacob?"

The question stunned me, but only because I hadn't considered that Edward might ask it. "No, that's not it at all. I love you, but I'm… I'm not ready. For any of it."

"Tell me what's wrong then, and I will fix it." I thought I could see a hint of desperation in his eyes, but it was always so hard to tell with Edward.

"That's kind of the issue, right there. You shouldn't be the one to fix all my problems. Everything that happened, after the fight, during the fight—it makes me worry that if we move forward, I could lose myself."

Something in the mask that perpetually adorned Edward's face cracked in that moment, and when he spoke next, he sounded sincerely concerned in a way I had never heard before. "I want to tell you I would never allow that to happen, that no matter what I will always hold you steady, but you know how I feel about this step we're taking. I want it. I want it more than anything, but Bella, you are too good for this life we live."

"I don't want to hear about how you think yourself a monster again, Edward. You're not. I'm just scared, and I… I need a break.

"I need to let it all sink in, I think, and I need to learn how to cope on my own instead of always leaning on you." The words gushed from me in an unstoppable torrent. My eyes watered a bit as I tried to explain. "What sort of life could we have if you're always sheltering me? Right now I feel like I'm a shadow, like I'm this ghost that's never had the chance to solidify and become a whole person. I feel like my breath dissipates without you there to catch it."

Edward kept rigid, brows furrowed by the smallest degree. He glanced down at his hands on the table.

"I'm so sorry." It felt like cutting my heart out of my chest.

"This space you need," Edward said carefully. "Are we talking a few weeks? A year? Or is it something more akin to indefinite?"

"I don't know."

"Are we… is this it for us, then?"

I shook my head and smiled as best I could. I couldn't imagine that I'd ever be able to say that we were over, not definitively. Nothing in the world could make me stop loving him.

"I don't want you to have any doubts," Edward said. He reached out across the table to squeeze my hand. "I never want you to wonder if you made the right choice, so if time is what you need, then that is what you will get. You have to know I could never deny you anything."

His reaction surprised me, left me with a fluttering hope that this decision I'd made was for the best. I'd almost hoped he'd be furious; that he would rant and rage and make me feel horrible for what I was doing to him ― but I supposed that this was yet another difference in our characters. Edward knew who and what he was, and what he wanted.

"Okay," Edward said, nodding to himself. "All right. Do what you need to, and when ― if ― you decide that you're ready, I'll be here."

I took a deep breath. No matter how much this hurt, I had to make sure he understood. "You shouldn't wait. I don't know ― I don't know anything for sure right now."

"I have nothing but time. There is one thing in this world that I care about above all others, and that is you. I want you to be happy, that is all I've ever needed from you. I can exist so long as I know that you are out there somewhere, with a smile on your face."

"I'd like to say that I hope we can still be friends," I confessed, "But I don't think we ever were before."

"Not really, no."

"I'm so sorry, Edward." Repeating it didn't help any.

He seemed to consider his next question carefully. "Will I still be able to see you?"

It took enormous effort not to react to that question, because I knew without a doubt that it had never been me who had any say in whether or not Edward saw me. That inequality was yet another thing piled onto the heap of reasons why I felt something between us was out of balance. I wanted to be his equal, and I couldn't be that right now — not when I couldn't even imagine myself as such.

"I'm going to be leaving town for a while." I couldn't look at him when I said it, fixating instead on the wall clock behind him. It was earlier than I thought.

"Bella, no," Edward protested. "It's not safe for you. The Volturi expect to hear from us soon."

There was no way I could stay in Forks after this; there were too many memories, and too much that could tempt me into giving in when I knew I should stand firm. Selfishly, I feared he'd leave town instead. "I have some help."

"This is what Jasper was worried about." Edward muttered to himself. "I'd wondered…"

"I shouldn't have talked to him about it before you." I felt terrible. It was such a perverse double-standard, to want to keep him in Forks while I fled, so I'd always know where he was. Just in case.

"I know that sometimes you need to talk things out, and Jasper is a good listener. I'm not angry."

"I kind of wish you would be."

"Why?" Edward wondered. He stood and was around the table in the time it took me to blink. He watched me for a moment before kneeling in front of me. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm scared. I don't want to completely lose you from my life."

"I'm not going anywhere," Edward promised, immediately understanding my meaning. "I swore I'd never do that to you again, and I meant it. I'm here for you, Bella: thick and thin."

"I can't ask you for that. I'm the one who's leaving, and I don't want you to waste away, waiting here for me. I want for you the same thing you want for me. Edward, I only want you to be happy."

"I am happy with you," Edward said, quietly enough that I wondered if he had meant me to hear it.

"I don't want you sitting around, waiting for me," I repeated.

"You don't really get a choice, there." Edward smiled. The prospect didn't bother him. I felt a little ill. "There will always be a door open between us. I promised you that, once. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is call. It doesn't matter what the terms are."

"That goes both ways." My offer didn't hold nearly as much weight as his. Edward didn't really need me for anything, not like I needed him. I pulled the ring off my finger and held it out to him on my palm. "This is yours."

"No," Edward insisted, closing my fingers around the cooling metal. "This has always belonged to you. Keep it."

"I can't." I pulled my hand from his and set the ring on the table when he wouldn't take it from me. "I can't keep this. Please don't try to make me."

Edward stared at the ring with an intensity I'd come to know well over the course of our relationship—though he surprised me by plucking the ring from the table without another attempt to talk me into keeping it. Maybe he knew that was one battle he would never win. Edward stood and crossed the kitchen to lean against the counter.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Go somewhere fun." Edward smiled; I wondered if he meant it.

"Like Vegas?" I asked, teasing him.

"Maybe work your way up to Vegas. And don't go with Emmett. He'll get you kicked out of every casino in the city."

That sounded just like Emmett. "Are you speaking from experience?"

Edward's smile widened a little, and this time I thought it was probably genuine. "Perhaps."

"That's a story I've got to hear someday."

"I'll never tell," Edward answered playfully. We'd unconsciously wandered to the middle of the kitchen, and by the time I notice, he was close enough for me to reach out and touch him. For nearly half a minute everything felt exactly like it had always been between us — but then Edward's expression grew somber. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after what I did, but when you decide to leave, will you allow me to say goodbye?"

This time, I was the one faking a smile. "Of course."

"I will always be here for you. In whatever way you need." Edward pressed a lingering kiss against my forehead and pulled away.

* * *

I climbed the stairs on auto-pilot. I'd thought my conviction would make it hurt less —but I couldn't imagine that it did. It felt like seams were splitting in my chest; like I had ripped away my insides and left them to be trampled. I was selfishly thankful for Edward's ability to control himself so well; I didn't want to know how badly I'd hurt him. I wondered if it was worse for him, or if his determination to do whatever was necessary for me to live the happiest life possible somehow superseded his pain.

I pulled my suitcase from the back of my closet and set it right in front of the doors. I didn't open it, didn't gather up clothes to throw them inside; I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at worn leather casing.

It had to have been hours that I stared at that suitcase. Eventually, my weight shifted to the floor. I crossed my legs and leaned back against the side of the bed, and traced every crack in the leather with my gaze, noted every worn patch. I memorized the texture and the way my lamp reflected off it. I could barely tear my eyes away when a knock sounded from my door. I assumed it was Charlie.

"Come in." The door opened to reveal Alice instead. The relief that welled up in me was incredible; deep down I had worried that this break-up would fare much as the last. There was no lack of relief in my voice when I whispered, "Hi."

"Charlie let me in," Alice said as she settled next to me on the floor. "I wasn't sure if you would want some company. Jasper said I should give you some space, but he always says that, and—"

I interrupted by leaning my head on her shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"I can't imagine how hard that must have been."

"What was it like, to know when and where and who, without a doubt?" I had the feeling I wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but Alice understood the question.

"It drove me crazy, the waiting." She laughed and slung her arm around my back. "But it was nice, being able to be so confident that it was meant to happen like that."

"You always have hated waiting."

"This may surprise you, but I'm not a very patient person." I let out a strained chuckle, and Alice hugged me tighter. "There. I knew I could get a laugh out of you."

I steadied my resolve to ask, "How is Edward doing?"

"Carlisle and Emmett took him hunting, and to talk. Don't worry about Edward." Alice insisted. "Like you, he has people who love him and want to help. You both have support, for when things are hard."

"I feel bad that you're with me, instead of with him."

"Why?" Alice wondered, sounding genuinely curious. "You're my best friend, why wouldn't I come?"

"But he's your brother."

Alice leaned her cheek against the top of my head. "As if that compares."

Alice didn't make another attempt to talk; instead she sat with me and let me try to sort through my feelings on my own. It was a poorly disguised request when I finally said, "I wish I knew for sure if I'm doing the right thing."

"And yet, you've started to consider what's next," Alice said, nodding at my suitcase. I was used to her evasions by now, but still, I wished she'd have mercy and be more forthcoming about the things she'd seen in my future. "I approve."

"Does it make me a horrible person? All I want to do is run away."

"I don't think you could be a truly horrible person if you tried."

"Feels like I'm trying pretty hard sometimes."

Alice shook her head and pulled one of my hands into hers. "You're doing what feels right for you, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's important that you take care of yourself, and I know that you want to make it so everyone is happy, but sometimes that's not possible—trust me, I've _tried_."

"I just feel…" I trailed off, not sure what I wanted to say.

"It's okay that you're still figuring it out, it really is," Alice said, but her assurances did little to comfort me. She sat up straight and angled herself to face me more while she waited for me to talk.

"Stupid," I decided. "I feel so stupid."

Alice stared at me for an uncomfortable span of time, as if she were struggling to decide something. She narrowed her eyes and asked, "Would you like for me to be completely honest with you, the way Jasper would be? You seemed to appreciate his bluntness."

"Yes." I found the prospect of ripping through all the sugar coating and coddling to be immensely appealing.

"I think that if you had gone ahead and gotten married, then Edward would have always worried that he took you out of the world far too soon. He would have wondered if he did you wrong, if you fully understood the consequences of the decisions you were making. He wants what is best for you, and he knows that sometimes what's best is to step aside and let go.

"I think after long enough, you would have resented his self-loathing, and eventually he probably would have resented it, too." Alice gave me a stern look as she finished, and I wondered if this really was all speculation, or if she was trying to give me information about the path I'd been on without dealing in absolutes.

"I love him," I said quietly, and the words weren't any less true than they had been yesterday, or last week. Maybe that meant something.

"I know you do. He loves you, too. So much."

"It feels wrong, to put everything on hold when we feel so strongly about each other." I hadn't really meant to say it out loud.

"There's nothing wrong with a step back." Alice shrugged. "I have no more of the answers than you do."

"I just wish I knew what I was doing, or even what I want to get out of this whole mess — I have no idea how I want this to end." It was frustrating, and I leaned forward to rest my forehead against my bent knees to focus on breathing. "I wish I was _better._ Stronger, like you."

"You shouldn't hold yourself to such impossible standards — you can't really compare yourself to vampires."

"I know," I admitted. "But it's hard not to sometimes. I hate being the weak link, and I hate that so much of my relationship with Edward is — was — based on that. It's not right, and it's not fair to him."

"How many more times do I have to tell you he understands before you'll believe me?" Alice asked, but her playful question only brought more worries to the surface.

"Thanks, for being here," I said instead of taking another lap around the same set of doubts. It wasn't nearly enough to express how thankful I was for her, but I wanted to believe that Alice understood, all the same. Without her I'd be in a tailspin: stuck staring at the walls all night with no idea which way the surface was.

"You'll be using it soon," Alice said, nodding towards my suitcase. "But don't you dare start packing yet. Jasper needs time to get a plan together."

"Any idea how that's going?"

"Oh, you know Jasper. He'll get it worked out." Alice stood and leaned down to grab my arm and pull me to my feet. She enveloped me in a tight hug and whispered, "It's all going to be okay. You'll see."

I nodded, not because I believed her, but because I wanted so much to.

"Try to get some sleep," Alice said. "It won't all look so glum in the morning."

"Thanks for being such a good friend, Alice." I wasn't sure I'd ever told her that before.

"You're a good friend, too." Alice squeezed my arm and started making her way out of my room. She paused in the doorway and said, "It really will be okay. There isn't anything that can keep you down for long. You may not think so right now—but please, at least accept that I believe you are perfectly capable of saving yourself. And remember: I am always right."

* * *

I couldn't sleep: I tossed and turned, with nothing but the memory of Edward's presence to keep me company. By midnight the walls were closing in, and I couldn't stand it anymore. There were too many reminders in too small a space. The past three hours were hell. All those thoughts of Edward had beat at my determination until I'd nearly given in, and I knew that I couldn't. I had to see this through.

As I made my way down the stairs to the kitchen, I caught sight of the glowing television and heard the quiet hum of a laugh track. Apparently, Charlie couldn't sleep either.

I filled a glass of water and headed into the living room. I had no desire to be alone.

"I was starting to worry that you'd never come out of your room again," Charlie said, glancing my way as I curled up on the couch and pulled the blanket resting on the back cushions over my lap. He was watching reruns of some sitcom that I could only remember seeing in passing as a child.

"I thought about it."

"What's going on? Alice looked pretty upset when she came by." Charlie sounded worried.

This was probably another situation where it would be best to just spit it out. "Edward and I have decided not to get married."

I expected Charlie to smile, or maybe gloat a bit, because he'd never been on board with the whole wedding thing; instead he leaned back in his chair and regarded me with an indiscernible caution. Charlie and Edward were a lot alike in that way; neither gave away anything they didn't want to.

"Do I need to get out my shotgun?" The ease with which he asked bordered on disturbing.

"Nothing happened," I insisted, a firm palm held out. "It was… it was going too fast. I'm not ready for it."

Charlie was silent for what felt like an hour, though it couldn't have been more than a minute. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"Huh?" It was the absolute last thing I thought he'd say.

"You just never seemed all that enthusiastic about it." Charlie shrugged and took a sip from his beer. "You're a lot like your mom in that way. Back when it was me and her, I didn't notice because I was excited, but Renee? She didn't want to get married, and I'd have seen it if I wanted to."

My heart dropped into my stomach. I didn't want to tell him that Renee and I had more in common than just our aversion to marriage.

"What? What else?" Charlie asked. He leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees.

That suitcase upstairs felt like a bomb waiting to go off, and I didn't know if I had it in me to warn Charlie, because if anybody could talk me out of leaving, it was him—but this was the moment. There was no letting it pass by, no matter how much I wanted to postpone the inevitable.

I tried to force a steady breath down — it didn't work so well. "I've been thinking about spending some time away this summer."

"Bella—"

"I know it's sudden but I need some space, from everything."

"Where do you want to go?" Charlie narrowed his eyes and settled into an interrogation.

"Alice and I are going to go see some friends of hers in California." I had to speak in absolutes here. There couldn't be a question lingering, couldn't be any wiggle room.

"You didn't really think I would be okay with this, did you?" Charlie asked, disapproval and disbelief thick in the air. This conversation was quickly spinning beyond my control. "Who are these friends? Where in California? How old are they? You can't just drop something like this on me, Bella."

"I thought you would understand," I said. My voice was low and accusatory, blaming him when really, I'd done everything I could to make sure he never saw it coming. I'd known he wouldn't be happy with what I'd decided.

"If you want me to understand, then you have to _explain_ ," Charlie countered.

"I don't — I…" How was I supposed to put something like this into words? No matter how hard I tried, how much I thought about it, I couldn't describe the twisted and confused mass wriggling inside me. "I need to get away. I need space. I need to _breathe_. I'm not freaking out; I know what I'm doing."

"You are not behaving like someone who has their head on straight," Charlie pointed out. "Don't think I can't see you're having a hard time. I don't like you making decisions like this when you're struggling to keep it together. You can pretend you're okay all you'd like—"

"I'm _not_ okay." I hadn't meant to say it so forcefully, but there was no stopping the words spewing out of me. "But I'm trying to do something about it, and you sitting there demanding that I explain what's wrong isn't helping!"

"Bella—"

"No." I could barely focus. "No. I… Charlie, I'm going to be fine. But I need some time to myself."

"What about school?" Charlie asked, changing tactics.

This was an angle I hadn't considered, though there was only one answer to give Charlie. Even if it turned out I didn't head to Alaska at the end of the summer, I still needed the exit college would grant me. "I'm not sure. I'd like to go. I… I think I will. Not in the fall, but maybe for the winter semester, if they'll let me defer."

Charlie kept a steady eye on me. "Promise me you will come home."

"What are you—"

"Promise," he insisted. "I won't get in your way, but I'm not going to just let you go, either—not again. If you want to run around and discover yourself, you have to swear to me you'll come back. Do your thing, and then you come home before you head off to college."

Charlie's lips were drawn tight, his eyes narrowed. When I was a little girl, I used to call it his cop face. It was still amazingly effective. "I promise."

Charlie sighed. "I don't like this. How long do I have to talk you out of it?"

I wasn't sure, so I pulled the best answer I could out of thin air. I didn't want to overestimate how much time I had left. "I don't know. Alice is taking care of all the plans, you know how she is. Maybe sometime next week."

"Jesus, Bella. It's not a lot to ask that you don't spring these things on me."

"I'll call," I said, hoping to appease Charlie, at least a little. The concession did nothing to quell the guilt roiling in my stomach. He was right; I should have talked to him about this sooner.

"Damn right, you will." Charlie shook his head. "Every week. No, every day. I want to know where you are. You can go and find yourself, but I'm going to know where to find you, too."

"All right," I agreed. It was the least I could do.

Charlie sighed. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I promise." It felt like I should go a little further, though. "I won't leave without telling you."

"Okay." I didn't think he believed me, but with my track record, who could blame him.

I thought I'd feel better once the air was cleared, but still there was nothing but a confused static hissing through my mind. Charlie cast another worried glance in my direction. I blamed exhaustion for what I asked next. "Have you ever watched someone die?"

Charlie gave me a sharp look, his eyes wide and probing. "If I wasn't worried about you before, I sure as hell am now."

"I was just curious," I said, trying to pass off the question as innocent.

Charlie saw right through it, but he answered anyway. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"It's not something I like to talk about, Bella." He paused and narrowed his eyes. "Tell me what's going on. Right now." Charlie wasn't kidding around. He turned off the television and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he studied me curled up on the couch. The way I'd phrased things, he probably thought I'd witnessed a murder. He wasn't wrong.

I couldn't tell him the truth, but I wondered how close I could get to it.

"Alice had a friend in Mississippi: I met her when she came to visit. She died a couple weeks ago. Everyone said she brought it on herself; that she'd done terrible things and put herself into a situation she couldn't get out of—but none of that is really what's eating at me. It's that all these people who say she deserved what was coming at her, they don't care that she's gone. They don't remember what she was before she fell apart. They're sad, but it doesn't affect them like it should; like I think it should. I don't understand how they can keep going with their lives like she was never there." By the end, I wasn't even sure who I was talking about; Bree, Riley, and all the others whose lives had been stolen from them—the first spun into the next until they melded together into one tragedy in my mind. I found it easier to believe Victoria got exactly what she deserved when I thought about it that way.

Charlie didn't say anything, I wasn't sure he even knew what I was talking about. I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling as words unbidden came flowing from me. "When it happened—when I heard about it—it was like the ground started quaking. I knew her. I'd met her, talked to her. She had so much ahead of her, and now it's all gone. She's gone, and the earth beneath my feet just kept on spinning."

"And then what?" Charlie asked.

"And then I wondered what I would feel like, if I knew I was going to die tomorrow. I don't think I'd want to look back on my life and know that it ends here. This isn't the person I want to be when it all comes crashing down." I'd never been so honest with anyone in my life, and it was liberating.

The look on Charlie's face was one I hadn't ever seen before. I squirmed in my seat under his gaze; the ticking of the wall clock echoed from the kitchen. It felt like he was waiting for me to say something else, but I didn't know what he could expect me to say after that. Confessions were exhausting.

Just when I thought I might lose my mind, Charlie relaxed a little and finally returned his gaze to the blank screen of the television.

"What?" I asked. The question was easier now that his attention was divided.

"Nothing," Charlie said. He glanced back up and frowned. "I'm just trying to figure out when the hell you grew up."

"I'm eighteen." The argument was frail and withered, and it went against everything I was starting to understand about myself. To Charlie it meant 'I'm eighteen. I'm an adult. How could you not see this?' To me the logic was simpler, flowed in the opposite direction. I'm only eighteen. I've only now begun to figure out who I am. How did I never see how far I still have to go?

Charlie smiled and shook his head. Maybe it didn't mean much to him, either.

"I used to worry so much," Charlie said. "When your mom left, I didn't know what to do. I could have fought her, I wanted to — but I wasn't sure if I wanted to fight for you, or against her, so I tried to keep my head as level as I could and think about it rationally.

"Letting her take you away, that was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and for a long time I was afraid that I'd made a mistake I could never fix. Having you here, I wouldn't give it up for the world. And not just because I missed you; because I got to see that I made the right decision. She did real good with you. Better than I would have — better than we could have done together."

Charlie had never told me any of this before. It was a new side of him. I'd never imagined Charlie wrestled with such an insecurity.

"I'm still worried about you," Charlie said after a moment.

I whispered back, only half-hoping he wouldn't hear me, "I'm a little worried about me, too."

"It just takes time, Bells." I wasn't sure which of the myriad of topics Charlie was referring to. Maybe all of them. "Anything else you want to drop on me while we're at it?"

There actually was. Now that we'd started talking it was hard to stop, but there were some things I could never tell Charlie. "No."

"All right," Charlie agreed, turning the television back on.

I drew the blanket tighter around myself, and stared at the television until the colors and lights ran together, and I finally drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

One week was my limit. I couldn't stand it anymore. I simply could not deal with knowing that Edward was a fifteen minute drive away, being perfectly understanding, and not hating me for being such a selfish and fickle child. I'd lied to him, kissed Jacob, and then pretended that everything was okay for three weeks while his sister planned our wedding ― how was he not furious?

I couldn't sleep without him, and that deep-seated need to have Edward for one of the most basic human functions was more distressing than I could put into words.

The steady stream of Cullens showing up at my house did little to ease the tension. Everyone had stopped by, some more than others. Alice came every day but one; Jasper was with her more often than not. Emmett, Carlisle, Esme― they'd all been over for various stretches of time. Even Rosalie had perched on the very edge of the couch and watched a movie with me and Emmett.

I could only assume they were trying to show me that just because Edward and I had stepped back didn't mean they would all disappear from my life. I appreciated the gesture, but as much as I longed for company, I yearned for space. I was starting to think it was impossible to find a balance that I found tolerable for more than a few hours.

After pulling my suitcase from the back of my closet last week, I'd stared at it religiously each night. Today, I threw it open on my bed and started throwing clothes inside. I didn't care that it was too much to fit. Concepts like logic and space couldn't possibly override my roaring instinct to flee.

Five minutes, six pairs of pants, a dozen shirts, and countless socks went piling up. And then I kept going. At some point I lost what little control I had and unplugged my CD player, tossing it on top of the mountain. Books. The entire contents of my dresser. I only came to my senses and realized nearly everything I owned was scattered over my bed when the sound of tapping against my window startled me back into reality. Jasper was right outside, and he looked pissed.

"Shit."

"That's right, shit," Jasper said as he eased the window up in the frame― I hadn't been able to stand having it open since ending things with Edward. "You better be thankful that I talked Alice out of coming. What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving," I answered with as much force and certainty as possible. I moved to continue emptying my bookcase, but Jasper planted himself in my way.

"We talked about this."

"I can't stay here anymore, I can't stand it. I'm suffocating." There was too much: that girl's screaming still rang in my ears. I couldn't breathe, not under this massive landslide crashing over me, and for a moment I absolutely despised Jasper for expecting me to.

"What are you going to tell your father?" Jasper asked, choosing to ignore my emotional whirlwind in favor of rationality. "Don't you think he deserves better than to come home and find you missing? Didn't you promise him you wouldn't do this again?"

With two questions, Jasper deflated my urge to bolt without any goodbyes. When I finally answered him my words were tired, and unsure. "What am I supposed to do?" The strength went out of my legs, and I sat on the edge of my bed with all the grace of falling. "You didn't see him. He didn't fight; he didn't argue… he just let me go. I feel so _horrible_. This town stinks of him: I can't sleep here. I hate that he doesn't hate me—how do none of you hate me?"

Jasper considered the scene before him as he settled into the rocking chair. I must have looked disastrous; crying and messy, sitting in a mountain of clothes and books and trying to stuff my entire life into a lone suitcase. "All Edward wants is for you to be happy. He may have only now started coming around to the idea that maybe you could have had that as a vampire, with him, but he is willing to sacrifice what he wants for what is best for you."

"I learned that lesson quite well, thank you." I snarled, making sure to convey exactly how much I didn't appreciate those memories. I didn't want to think about the things Edward had done to set us back, not when I wanted to feel terrible about myself.

"I remember," Jasper said easily.

"Look, I've been enough trouble. I don't want to be a bother, and you shouldn't be taking my side over his."

"Who said anything about taking sides?" Jasper crossed his left leg over his knee. He was settling in, now that he realized this conversation would not be a quick one.

"I don't want to cause trouble." I repeated the words, as if saying them a second time would make the concept agree with Jasper.

"You aren't." Jasper shrugged. "If you were, I would tell you so."

"But―"

"And if I didn't consider you someone worthy of my care, I wouldn't have offered to help. Edward is not upset that I am helping you― in fact, he is quite relieved. He knows that keeping you here when you are so determined to leave is pointless and cruel, and he's thankful I'm willing to orchestrate your departure in a way that will keep you safe. Your request is not unreasonable, nor is it unduly impractical. It's just going to take some strategy."

"What exactly is it that you're planning?" It seemed simple to me. Get in the car and drive. That's as far as my foresight went.

"There are two places I could take you, where I could trust that you will stay safe." Jasper chuckled to himself. "Although the first is not feasible in this situation. It could have worked if things were different, but certainly not here, not with you."

"Where?" I asked.

"Volterra."

Jasper was right, there wasn't anything in this world that could make me go back there willingly. "No."

"I know," Jasper said. I caught his eyes dart side-to-side, and when he spoke again he leaned in closer, as if he were telling me a secret. "I have a friend―"

"No way."

"Always such a smart-ass." Jasper grinned for a moment before his demeanor turned serious again. "He's agreed to look after you."

I scowled. I hated to be treated like a child in need of babysitting.

"It's already been arranged," Jasper continued, ignoring my displeasure. "We can leave as early as next Saturday."

My chest constricted for a moment, and I finally voiced the source of much of my anxiety. "The twelfth? Not a day later, please. I can't… I just can't."

Jasper's eyes flashed with something far too sympathetic for my liking, but it was gone in an instant. He set both feet on the floor and leaned forward. "I promise I will get you far, far outside the Washington border before the thirteenth."

Eight days. I could deal with that. It was better notice than I'd led Charlie to believe he'd have.

"Who exactly is this guy?" I asked suspiciously.

"Do you remember when I was telling you about the beginnings of my life as a vampire?" Jasper asked. He waited for me to nod before continuing. "Then you remember Peter."

"The man who convinced you to leave Maria?"

"Yes."

I frowned, still unsure. I had hoped to be on my own, and I wasn't sure how much I liked the idea of staying with some strange man, friend of Jasper's or not.

"I know it isn't what you had in mind," Jasper said with an understanding nod. "But as far as options go, this is the best one. There are others you might feel more comfortable with, but if the Volturi become curious during this interim, your best chance of staying under their radar is with Peter."

"Why?" I asked.

"Let's just say that he has experience dealing with them." Jasper settled back into the rocking chair and smiled. "Don't worry. Peter knows the gist of what's happened, and he's willing to do this. He won't get in your way. Alice will stay with you, though, until you are settled and comfortable."

Something prickled at the edge of my memory: something Jasper had already told me about this man we were discussing. It only took a quick recollection of the day Edward and I had skipped school and I learned about what had shaped Jasper into the sort of vampire who could plot the demise of an army to place what it was. "I thought Peter was married, to a woman named Charlotte."

"No," Jasper said, the corners of his lips tugged down. He chose his words carefully. "They never married. She isn't with him anymore."

"Oh." I didn't ask any more questions. I wanted to, but we were edging into too personal of a territory. Jasper wasn't going to disclose anything more, and I was reluctant to ask; it wasn't my business.

Jasper switched back to our original topic of conversation. "Alice and I are going to leave Forks for a while, too. I'll get things set up for us while she's with you."

Nausea rolled through me with his words; I hadn't known Jasper and Alice would have to leave, too.

Jasper regarded me for a moment and then chuckled. "Don't give me that look. This has little to do with you. Not letting Edward know where you are is a precautionary measure, yes, but we've been talking about taking some time to ourselves for a while now. So, stop thinking it's your fault."

"You're going through so much trouble for me."

"You would do the same for any of us," Jasper said.

"What am I going to tell Charlie?" I wondered aloud. "He wants an explanation for this, and I don't know how to give him one. He's asking so many questions."

"Tell him whatever you want to. Though, if I could, I would like to make a suggestion." Jasper hesitated, waiting for my permission before explaining. I nodded, my hands curled into fists against my bedspread. "Don't let it sound like you're leaving because of him, or because you don't like Forks. Make sure that he knows this is something you need to do for you. He'll understand, and it will be easier on him in the long run."

I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile. It was nice that Jasper thought of Charlie and his feelings, and this explanation fell into line with what I'd said already. "I don't want to lie to him anymore."

"You should tell him the truth," Jasper agreed. "At least, as close to the truth as you can get. The particulars of vampires and werewolves don't matter so much in the end. What you're feeling? That's the important part, and you should share it with your father."

I looked to my right where my over-packed suitcase laid hidden under an almost comical amount of clothes. My fists loosened — the blood rushing to my legs subsided. Calm settled through me enough to stop the itch to flee. "It can't ever be easy, can it?"

"Running away from your problems isn't any easier."

"It sounds so appealing, though." I tapped my foot on the floor and tried to think of how to phrase my next question.

"Go ahead." Jasper laughed. "I already told you, it's difficult to offend me."

"Why are you helping me? We've never really talked before all this started."

Jasper considered his answer for a few moments. "Because you've earned my respect. All that you've been through, all that is to come ― you deserve a break, if only for a little while."

"What else?" I asked. I wasn't sure he had actually had another reason, but I was pretty certain that all I had to do was ask, and he'd tell me if he did. With Jasper, you had to know what the question was.

Jasper pursed his lips. Eventually he answered, "Because Alice says you will be back. She doesn't know when or why, or if things between you and Edward will work out ― but she does know you come back."

"Does she still see me becoming a vampire?"

"You will be turned, yes. The decision that accompanies that future for you ― it has never faltered. Not once. Not when Edward left, not when he refused your request. Before Carlisle agreed and after you'd given up hope of ever seeing us again, that vision always remained."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"My opinion is that your future has been tied. The question of if you will be changed, it's no longer entirely yours. It will happen, eventually ― but do not misinterpret, you chose this, too, and you can choose both when and how."

I let out a breath. "The Volturi."

Jasper smiled. "Yes, and before that ― even though she'll never admit it ― was Alice."

"Yeah?" I asked. It was nice, hearing from an outside source that Alice had decided that she would do whatever it took to ensure I stayed happy, safe, and her friend.

"Of course. Alice…" Jasper trailed off thoughtfully and turned his head toward the window. "I don't think you'll ever understand how much your friendship means to her."

"The feeling is mutual."

"I know." Jasper unfolded himself from my rocking chair and took two steps closer. His gaze was unnerving, like no matter what I tried, I wouldn't be able to hide anything from him. I'd never realized how intimidating he could be. "Are you sufficiently ― how do they say it ― talked off the ledge?"

If his intention was to make me laugh, he succeeded, barely. "I suppose, but I can't promise for how long."

"Good enough." Jasper shrugged, heading toward the window. "Are you going to be okay? I know you've been having trouble sleeping."

The scope the Cullens had on my day-to-day life was irritating, but it was hard to be angry with Jasper for it. I knew he'd gotten his information from Alice. Still, it would be nice if the people in my life knew these sorts of things because I'd told them instead of through their supernatural advantages.

"It's hard right now." The words came out with a bite.

"I could help, if you'd like."

This time I had an unmistakably hostile tone to my response. "I think what I'd like is to learn how to deal with this on my own, thanks."

Jasper nodded, and for just for a second, I wondered if he'd been testing me. "Call if you need anything."

He slipped back out the window, and I glanced down at the overflowing suitcase sitting next to me on the bed. When I looked back toward the window it was already closed.

I didn't bother trying to put my clothes away neatly, or even in their proper places. There was an itch under my skin, a compulsion to put as much distance between myself and this room as possible; Jasper understood that. I trusted him to not make me wait too long, but as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I had loose threads to wrap up here in Forks.

The suitcase went back to its position on the floor in the front of the closet. Standing in the middle of my room staring at my bed, trepidation raced through me. There was something about the crisp sheets and fluffy pillows that made me feel sick. Everywhere my attention landed were more things Edward had touched, more promises we'd made and broken. His presence was permanent here, a constant reminder of all the times he'd smiled or frowned, and all the times he'd helped me sleep when I couldn't chase my own nightmares away.

When I was in my bedroom, the only thing I could focus on was confusion and hurt. I wanted to give in, to call him and tell him I'd changed my mind, that I'd take it all back ― but that was my sense of desperation talking. It was easy to push away all the reasons why I felt the need for solitude when I was confronted with how lonely it was without Edward always there.

I waffled back and forth, never getting a hold on any one need or desire long enough to identify how prevalent it was. I never was any good at sticking to my guns. The one thing I'd been sure of had been Edward, and now that I'd managed to find doubts, even there, I was lost with no pole star.

I marched out of my room and grabbed a pillow from the hall closet. This time, when I went down to the living room, Charlie was already fast asleep. I watched late night reruns curled up on the couch alone.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of the kitchen cabinets banging and Charlie shuffling around the kitchen. It couldn't have been later than five in the morning. The downside to sleeping in the living room was that Charlie was an early riser, and he seemed to be of the opinion that if I slept downstairs, and then I'd have to deal with being woken up on his schedule.

I pried my eyes open when the sound of his footsteps brought him into the living room. "Morning."

"Spent the night down here again?" Charlie asked. "What is that? Third in a row?"

"Seems that way." I hadn't been keeping count. It felt like I'd been sleeping on the couch forever. In reality, it had only been off and on ever since the wedding was canceled. It was too hard sleeping in my room, in my bed, with all those memories of Edward. I supposed it always had been.

Charlie set a mug on the coffee table for me and took a seat in his chair. I'd always hated coffee ― that is until I'd started waking up at five in the morning after not being able to sleep until past midnight. I'd been living on the stuff for the past few days. When Charlie didn't turn up the sound on the television, or change the channel, I glanced over to find him staring at me with narrowed eyes. I'd been wondering how long he would let me keep silent; it seemed his patience had worn out.

"I'm trying not to read too much into this, Bells, but it's worrisome that you won't sleep in your bedroom anymore."

"It reminds me of Edward," I mumbled. I didn't realize what I'd said until Charlie frowned and flushed in anger. "Wait… that came out so wrong."

"For his sake, I hope so."

"Really, it's nothing… everything reminds me of him," I said lamely. It was a poor explanation, but there was no better one to give. The truth was a poor night's sleep on the couch helped to disguise the root of the problem, that I could barely sleep at all. I didn't think Charlie would buy it, but at least he let it slide for now.

"Breakfast in fifteen minutes," Charlie said after a pause.

"I'm not hungry." Just the thought of food made me feel a little sick.

"I don't care. Get up. Get dressed. I'm not going to watch you waste away." Charlie worried we were repeating history.

"This isn't going to be like it was when―" I wasn't sure I could talk about it, but one look at Charlie's fierce and protective expression pushed me into trying. I sighed and continued. "It's not the same. This was amicable. I'm not going to lose it like I did when he left me."

Charlie nodded, a slight relief shading his face. "Good. But breakfast is now mandatory, so get your ass up off the couch."

That was Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday ― they all went the same. Charlie hovered, which was weird enough on its own, but then that shifted into something entirely new. Charlie brought home dinner, Charlie rented movies, Charlie tried to convince me to go fishing with him. Charlie talked.

It was a strange bubble we'd found ourselves in, and I wondered if he'd done all these same things during those horrid months last year when Edward left, and the saner part of me had gone with him. I couldn't remember, and I felt terrible for it.

We'd started having lunch together. We sat at the kitchen table instead of in the living room, and even on the days Charlie worked, he stopped home to eat with me. It was nice. It made me feel like even though I'd thrown away all that had previously made up what I considered normal, that maybe there could be a new normal. A better routine. That in just a few days something good had come out of all that had happened.

In the grand scheme of things, eight days wasn't all that much time. Especially with all the loose ends I'd neglected to tie up. They were already whittling away. Two to go. It hadn't felt real until I had the date. It had been a dream, a fantasy; something I'd wanted desperately but couldn't quite catch hold of. Time had slowed to a crawl, and now it sped past me so fast I wasn't sure I could keep pace.

It was the first truly sunny day we'd had all summer. Out the living room window was a clear blue sky, sun shining clear. A weight I couldn't describe fell away at the sight, the whispering doubts in the back of my head silenced. I hadn't associated the sun with something bright in so long; the whole concept felt backward and out of place. In a rush of determination, I dressed to venture out into the world. For once I could be sure of what I would not encounter outside my home. There was no Edward out there in the sunlight, and I had things I needed to do.

Quitting my job at Newton's Outfitters was nothing more than a formality. Really, they'd been expecting me to leave ever since the wedding announcement. I hadn't even worked a shift there since before graduation. There wasn't much to say; at the very least they hadn't expected me to stay beyond August.

I drove by the high school twice, down all the side streets, and before I knew it was on the highway to La Push. I wasn't sure what I thought I would find there, if there was anyone left on the reservation who wanted anything to do with me. As soon as the realization crossed my mind, I pulled onto the shoulder. There was something about the highway that spanned between my house and Jacob's that let turmoil loose in me.

It hadn't even been three weeks, and everything was so different. Jacob was gone; it hadn't sunk in before. He and I had always been similar, and I wondered if he was doing the same thing I was trying to ― if that wedding invitation had been the last straw, and he couldn't stand it anymore. I hoped that wherever he was, he was happy. Or at least less conflicted.

I wished there was some way to thank Sam and the rest of the wolves for all they'd done, but I wasn't sure my gratitude was welcome. Only Quil and Embry had ever been close to something resembling friends. Seth, I thought, would probably be nice enough, though I irrationally worried that it wasn't Jacob's side he'd choose over mine, but Edward's. Still, whatever tolerance they had mustered up in the past had surely fled along with Jacob. I should have said thank you when I had the chance.

I thought about the meadow, longed for the chance to lie in the sun there one more time before I left it behind. It would be nice to have one last day where I could pretend everything was going to be okay, would go according to the plan I had set out for myself. It was impossible to figure out which side of me the desire was born of; if it was immaturity or something deeper that could help me move on. But the meadow was just like First Beach, like every place that was special to me; it belonged to someone else. Nothing here was mine. I turned around and drove back toward town, dwelling on uncomfortable thoughts the whole way.

For the first time I truly appreciated what Edward had meant when he tried to explain how essential distractions were. I needed something, anything to keep me from these melancholy thoughts. My past was riddled with missteps and decisions I wished I could change ― perspectives I wish I'd been able to see earlier ― but that didn't mean dwelling on them would change anything now. I'd already done what I could to ensure that going forward I wouldn't make the mistake of clinging to a world I idealized without understanding.

The grocery store was as good a place as any to take my mind off my problems. Charlie had taken on the bulk of the responsibility for meals, and we were both getting tired of takeout from the diner.

Grocery shopping was something I used to enjoy. I'd plan meals and flip through magazines, content that this was something I could do to help out, and that I did it well. It wasn't the same anymore. I wondered if these little things would ever feel normal again, or if my foray into the world of the supernatural had skewed my vision so sharply that it was impossible to go back. It felt like the boxes on the shelves were taunting me. They were in the same places they'd always been while I'd been stuck between worlds with no clue where I belonged. All I had was a ringing in my ears and ashes in my lungs.

I turned into the next aisle where a familiar set of bouncing curls confronted me. I considered turning away without so much as a hello, but as soon as my fingers tightened around the handle of the shopping cart my head cleared enough to walk forward and smile.

"Hey, Jess."

"Bella!" The grin slid off her face and she immediately adopted a sympathetic tilt of her head. I'd been getting a lot of those today. "How've you been?"

I wasn't sure why I hadn't considered this angle until it was too late. The invitations had gone out. Of course someone ― I guessed Alice ― had to run around explaining to everyone that there wasn't actually going to be a wedding. I knew Charlie had talked to Renee, but I wasn't sure what he'd told her; I barely knew what she'd said to me when he handed the phone over.

I wondered what everyone thought had happened. Obviously, Jessica had some expectation that I would be in no condition to be grocery shopping.

"I've been well. Mostly helping Charlie around the house, making plans for the summer." I shouldn't have been so pleased with Jessica's surprise, but there was something fierce clawing at my spine that wanted to make sure she knew that I wasn't that same girl Edward left last fall. I may have still been a weakling, but at least I was gaining strength.

"Oh. Well, good for you." Jessica smiled brightly, trying to regain her footing. The sincerity of her grin made me feel a little bad for my cattiness; it wasn't Jessica's fault I was an oversensitive mess.

"What about you?" I asked. "How has your summer been so far?"

"Same as ever. Although the trying to wrap my mind around going to college is new."

"You're going to Wisconsin, right?" I wasn't sure how I remembered that tidbit, but I could tell from the grin that lit up Jessica's face that she appreciated it.

"Yeah, Marquette. I never knew I could be so nervous." We started moving through the store again, Jessica's basket making short arcs as she tried to contain her excitement. "I guess that's normal though. How about you? Are you still going to Alaska?"

I waited for the dread, for the sickening feeling to stampede through me, but the sensation never came. I only needed a few seconds to take a steadying breath before I could answer. "Probably not. I was going there to be with Edward, and now I'm not sure what will happen between us. Alice and I are going to visit some friends of hers this summer, and I guess I'll see what happens from there."

"Good for you." Jessica bumped her shoulder against mine. She sounded like she was genuinely happy for me. "I wish I could have done something like that, taken a year off, traveled."

"It wasn't something I'd planned for, but to tell you the truth I can't wait."

"Where are you guys going?"

"California. L.A., to see some friends of Alice's." The lie was an easy one. I'd been practicing it a lot lately.

"Way to rub salt in the wound." Jessica rolled her eyes and made the turn with me out of the aisle to stop in front of the checkout. She leaned in to hug me. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Send lots of pictures, and don't you dare hog all the sunshine."

I thought if I'd given Jessica half a chance, we could have been close friends. I watched her walk away and wondered what my life would have been if I'd made a different choice when I met Edward. If I'd listened to him, what would Jessica and I be saying to each other now?

There was no sense in speculation. There was only one way left to go, and that was forward. I thought maybe I understood what Jasper had meant, though, when he told me I'd chosen this, too. I could dictate the pace of my steps. I could use this precious time I had left to ensure that when I dissolved from this world and solidified in another, I wouldn't lose everything. The tides felt like they were settling; or maybe I was just getting used to their weight. There was so much left to wash over and still my breathing, but maybe if I only focused on this part I could handle it. I would deal with this one thing, and then the next. I'd pace my steps so that at the end I would be sure.

When I walked back out into the sun, I raised my head a little higher, and I kept hold of the glimmer of optimism all the way home. As I struggled up the porch steps under the weight of far too many grocery bags, I allowed myself to think that maybe I could try to believe Alice when she said that everything would turn out all right in the end.

Charlie turned toward the front hall when the door slammed shut behind me. He tried to smooth the worry lines dancing across his forehead, but it was obvious what he was thinking.

"Sorry, I had some things to take care of in town."

Charlie shrugged and came to take an armful of bags from me. "Dinner's almost ready."

The burner on the stove was on, and there wasn't a takeout container in sight. Now, that was ominous.

"You know, I've been thinking. You could take some courses at the college up in Port Angeles. Their summer registration is over, but they have some good adult education classes," Charlie said. He was disturbingly adept at pretending there was no ulterior motive. He'd been putting up these offers ever since he found out he was up against a ticking clock. "They have some cooking stuff. You like cooking, right?"

"I'm not taking cooking classes, Charlie."

"They've got a good auto-shop program, too. Someone's got to keep that truck running." Charlie tried again. This offer was more tempting, but not by much. He was far more creative than I'd ever given him credit for.

"Maybe you're the one who should sign up for the cooking classes," I said, eying what I supposed was meant to be spaghetti sauce boiling on the stovetop.

"I'm not the one who's a flight risk," Charlie muttered.

I frowned.

Charlie shuffled his feet and started unloading the groceries into the refrigerator. He grabbed a beer for himself while he was in there. "You can't really blame me, can you?"

"No, I don't blame you," I said as I grabbed a spoon to stir the sauce and turned down the heat. It was a lost cause.

"It's hard for me to believe you're leaving in two days."

"But I'll come back." It was the one promise I could make him and the more time wore on, the more determined I became to keep it.

"You'd better."


	5. Chapter 5

My possessions had been gathered and sorted into piles around my room at least six times over the past two days. I was trying to go slow, take baby steps, because I knew if I pulled that suitcase out again not even Jasper could stop me. I had to keep control of myself, because Jasper was right; Charlie deserved much more than to come home to find his daughter had taken off again.

Charlie and I didn't talk much about my impending departure, other than his continued attempts to sway me. He wasn't putting much effort into it anymore. There were little things said over dinner; comments about a movie we could see together, or how we really should go fishing with Billy sometime.

Today was heavier. This was the last time we'd have lunch together.

The swell of phantom smoke and screams ringing in my ears was instantaneous and vicious; the memory of exactly what I was running from always came at the most inopportune times. The table was quiet. Charlie stared at the clock. For a split-second I wished he'd make one last attempt to convince me. Just one more try, one more argument or enticement. The process of saying goodbye, even temporarily, was more difficult than I could have ever imagined.

The second hand made another lap around the clock-face. Our time left was now measured in hours. Charlie glanced my way and asked, "Alice is coming to get you? What do you want me to do with the truck?"

"Do you mind keeping it around?" There probably wasn't any reason to, but I couldn't bear the thought of Charlie getting rid of it.

"Truth be told, I'd be sorry to see it go." Charlie clapped his hand on my shoulder as he stood and made his way to the sink. "I have to go back to work for a couple hours."

He left without another word. We'd already argued our cases to death.

* * *

Packing was harder than I expected it to be; deep down I knew that this time it was for real, where before I'd never expected to make it two yards from the house before Alice came to stop me. This time I couldn't throw all of my possessions into a mountain on top of my bed with the delusion that I could take my whole existence with me wherever I went. Some things had to be left behind. Like Charlie. It made my heart ache. I left all but my three favorite books in favor of my photo album. I never thought I'd have to make choices like this.

The hours slipped away from me to the rhythm of folding the last of my clothes. I heard the front door slam and knew Charlie was back, but he didn't come up the stairs. I would have lost it if he did. I zipped my suitcase shut and considered a scenario where selfishness had won out, and I left in the middle of the night without hard goodbyes.

Alice's sudden appearance in the doorway wasn't surprising. She wordlessly hoisted the strap of my duffel bag with a cautious smile thrown over her shoulder. I grabbed the suitcase and the smaller bag, took a deep breath, and followed her from my room without looking back. I didn't think I'd be able to stand it.

Charlie pulled me into a tight hug at the front door. I sank into the comfort of it for as long as I could, whispering that I loved him with my cheek pressed tight to his coat. Charlie strengthened his hold on me for a moment before shoving something in my pocket. "Love you too, Bells. Be safe. Be _smart._ "

"I will." I swallowed back the lump in my throat, nodded, and stepped from his embrace. My hand automatically sought what he'd given me. It was a wad of cash, a fifty wrapped around the outside. I couldn't accept so much of Charlie's money.

"Just take it. Give me one less thing to worry about."

I nodded again and put the roll of bills back where I'd found it. Anything that would give Charlie some peace of mind was well worth doing. "I'll call you when we get there."

"Yes, you will," Charlie agreed. He stood on the front porch and watched us load my bags into the trunk, save for one I kept with me; the one that had my photo album in it. I couldn't quite make myself loosen my hold on the strap.

Alice backed down the driveway in silence. I stared fixedly at the rearview mirror, refusing to look ahead until Charlie was long out of sight.

I tried not to let my panic show when Alice, instead of turning right to go toward the highway, hung a left and headed toward her house. It made sense; Charlie wasn't the only person I'd made promises to. Alice parked in the driveway and turned to me the moment Edward walked out onto the lawn. My heart stuttered, my throat ached.

"He wasn't sure if you'd want to see him," Alice said, her voice quiet and soothing. "But he's here, if you'd like to say goodbye."

No, I didn't want to talk to Edward. Not today ― not the day before our wedding ― but I didn't have much of a choice. I had to push the cowardly side of me away and do what I knew was right. I couldn't leave him without a word. Somewhere deep, dark, and fleeting, I thought maybe this would help close a long scabbed-over wound; if it would somehow make me feel better about what had happened between us.

"Yeah."

I hadn't allowed myself to feel how much I missed him. What I had to remember was that this wasn't all about Edward. It was about me, too, and it was about coming to terms with the reality of the world I'd been shot into at seventeen. I had to remember that I wasn't ready for this and hold on to my resolve. I took one last steady breath before I pushed the car door open, and there were no barriers left between me and Edward.

"Bella." The tips of his fingers brushed over my cheeks, and I realized that I'd been repressing far more than I'd believed. There was something severely wrong about the _way_ that I missed him. Like he was my soul; like I was nothing without him. Not so long ago, I'd come to this same conclusion and thought it romantic. This time it made me feel nauseated. I should have my own soul. I shouldn't have to siphon all my life from him. It wasn't fair to either of us.

I couldn't stand to look him in the eye. "I'm so sorry, Edward."

"I've already told you ― traveling, seeing the world, these are the kinds of things I want for you."

"I'd always planned on it being with you, though." I sighed and took a step back to get a little space, not that it did much good. We were still standing far too close. This wasn't going well. Two weeks apart and it was like his hold on me had recharged. It only took one look to wash away everything toxic running through my veins, and I had to remind myself that it wasn't right. I didn't want to need him in this way.

"You say you are undecided; tell me when you make up your mind. Either way," Edward murmured. He reached out and swept the hair away from my face, his touch so light I felt nothing but the cold. "You don't have to be ready to come home, or ready to leave for good ― just let me know when you decide. Please."

"Okay," I whispered back. It was the least I could do for him.

Edward bowed his head to kiss me once, his lips hard and familiar over mine, and separated himself from me by a few feet. His demeanor shifted, determination overcame him, and he turned to Jasper. Emmett stepped in front of me, blocking my view of whatever was happening between his brothers. I suspected it was tense, and Edward probably did not want me to see.

"You must ride a roller-coaster," Emmett said, completely straight-faced and strangely earnest. He began counting off on his fingers. "You need to eat bizarre food, play laser-tag, go to a baseball game, and learn how to play blackjack."

"Buy a beautiful dress without looking at the price," Rosalie added in a shy tone, once Emmett quieted. It was the first time she'd ever spoken to me without a trace of annoyance. "Kiss a man for fun. Just for the hell of it."

It wasn't until then that I realized what Emmett and Rosalie were doing. Their intentions were little needles prickling in my heart. These were all the things Emmett and Rosalie wished they'd been able to do when they were human.

"I will," I said, more towards Rosalie than Emmett. The sentiment meant more from her. Rosalie nodded once; a brief understanding shared between us. She wanted me to live. How had I never been able to see that for what it was until now?

"And for God's sake, learn to do something with your hair." Rosalie rolled her eyes with the comment, but she also spared me a smile before Carlisle and Esme stepped forward. In between hugs and more touching words, another conversation drew our attention.

"She will be safe?" Edward asked, ferocity coloring his words. He and Jasper stared each other down, the match quickly turning into glares from both sides. Edward growled. "I want to know where you are taking her."

"No." Jasper set his jaw and held his ground. "If you know and Aro comes looking, then he can find her."

"They could send Demetri," Edward argued. I didn't think I'd ever get used to how quickly and effectively he could change demeanor. Not more than five minutes ago he'd been kissing me.

"Demetri is of no consequence. His gift works like yours, like Jane's." Jasper seemed to settle into the argument once it became apparent that Edward was trying to be logical. "I have everything handled."

"He could find you," Edward said, and his expression hardened in the next instant. "What do you _mean_ you won't be with her?!"

"She will be safe," Jasper repeated. "It is a bad tactical decision to let you know everything, but I promise you, she will be safe."

"I don't know any of your friends well enough to trust them," Edward insisted, unable to pick a name from Jasper's thoughts.

Jasper's face darkened. His lips curled back from his teeth enough for his sneer to rip terror through me. He looked like a vampire. A very offended and very real vampire. "Learn to."

Edward paused for a moment, weighing how much confidence Jasper had in this plan of his. Eventually Edward let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. "If anything happens to her―"

Jasper didn't let him finish, and he didn't answer. He gave a sharp nod of his head and held Edward's gaze for a few more seconds. Edward turned away and Jasper made quick strides toward the car: some unknown agreement settled. Knowing the two of them, it probably ended bloody if things went wrong.

I shuffled my feet against the driveway; it seemed I was a never-ending source of conflict for the Cullens.

"Stop it," Jasper said under his breath. "It isn't your fault."

It was easier said than done to stem the flow of guilt, but there was something in the force of Jasper's tone that convinced me to try. Alice took hold of my hand and guided me to the open back door of the car. There was only one thing left to do.

I whispered my goodbye right before the door swung shut, but I caught the movement of Edward's lips and knew his reply had been that he loved me. My eyes settled on the windshield. There was no answer to that; not when I loved him, too, and here I was, perpetuating the sick cycle where all we ever did was leave each other.

Two more doors clicked shut, and I closed my eyes until I was sure Edward was far enough in the rearview mirror that I wouldn't be able to find him again. When my eyelids slid open, the world sped by in a blur. Trees melted together as Jasper nudged the accelerator toward the floor, and Alice scooted closer along the backseat.

"Where are we going?" I asked under my breath, almost afraid to break the silence weighing on us.

Once we'd made another two turns Alice answered back, just as quietly. "A couple of hours outside of Omaha."

I'd never been to Nebraska.

Jasper shifted gears and pulled out onto the highway, and not once did he try to manipulate my feelings or try to stop the tears running down my cheeks. He knew that despite the crying, once we passed the sign marking the border between Forks and the rest of the world, I could finally breathe.

* * *

My first impression of Peter was that he was a quiet man. He stood tall in his doorway, silently assessing the scene laid out before him. The house behind him was brick, huge bay windows on either side of the door, set off-center in a narrow clearing; the driveway near a mile long. It looked like a cookie-cutter house had been plucked from the suburbs and plopped down in the middle of the woods.

The sun hung low in the sky behind the house, shadowing Peter. His hair was a few shades darker than mine; the strands cropped close to his scalp, a little longer on top. I suspected he'd been around the same age as Carlisle when he was changed. He wasn't a large man, not like Emmett, but he was imposing. His eyes gleamed deep red. A shudder ran down my spine.

Jasper had made this part very clear: Peter did not live the way the Cullens did, but there was no way to prepare for the bloody eyes of a vampire in front of me. In the end, I would have to trust Jasper. I forced myself to take another look at Peter's eyes. They were darker than I expected. If Peter hadn't bothered to hunt, he must have a substantial amount of control over himself.

Still, he made me nervous. Nearly twenty-four hours stuck in the car didn't help matters.

Jasper spoke first. "Thank you for helping with this."

Peter only nodded in reply.

Jasper and Peter shared a long look; it reminded me of the way Alice and Edward would sometimes communicate. Alice nudged me forward a bit, and Jasper gestured toward me. "This is Bella. Bella, meet Peter."

"Hi." My voice cracked. I never knew one word could feel so awkward.

Peter nodded again and turned to walk inside. I hurried to follow.

The interior was much like the outside: plain and factory-standard. The front door lead into a seating area with a fireplace, beyond that, two hallways which I could only assume lead to a kitchen of sorts and a bedroom. The floors were hardwood. The walls were all painted the same even tone of yellowed beige. I kind of liked it—the house felt old-fashioned, and warm despite the lack of décor.

"Alice." Peter greeted, and I turned back to see a smug look on his face. "Still as charming as ever."

Alice scowled and shook her head. What was that about?

"What's wrong?" I whispered, nervous about her sudden hostility.

"Nothing." Alice shook her head again. She was lying.

"Down the hall," Peter said, addressing me for the first time. His voice was less distinct than the other vampires I knew. It lacked that off-putting musical quality that never failed to make me uncomfortable. He sounded more… normal, I supposed.

"Thank you." Another anxious minute passed before I edged away. Apparently Jasper hadn't been exaggerating when he told me Peter wasn't the type to get in the way.

Alice scoffed at the surroundings, and by the time I'd reached what I assumed was a bedroom, she was right beside me shaking her head.

"What?" I asked once the door at the end of the hallway had swung shut behind us. I still had trouble reconciling that privacy was never anything but an illusion when you spent your time with vampires.

"Alice looked over the room and scowled. "Would it kill him to at least put some effort into making his house the slightest bit hospitable?"

I didn't share Alice's aversion. Sure, it was plain and bare, but the bed looked comfortable enough and all the necessities were there. The bedroom was painted an airy shade of brown rather than the harsh white of the Cullen's house, and I found the color to be soothing. I shrugged. "I don't see the problem."

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side." Alice laughed, finally smiling. "Let's get you situated."

It felt too strange, unpacking my things into another man's dresser. Fortunately, Alice let me stop at clothes and didn't insist on unpacking everything. Instead, I left my remaining bags untouched, sitting next to the bed.

Jasper and Peter hadn't moved from the center of the living room where we'd left them. Their voices were too quiet to make out, but both carried intense expressions on their faces. One look and I knew I wanted nothing to do with whatever conversation they were having. Not today.

"I have to call Charlie," I muttered before striding out the front door to sit on the stoop.

Talking to Charlie went as expected. He still wasn't happy, but there was some relief in his voice; he hadn't quite believed that I'd keep in contact. It made me even more determined to keep my word to him. I didn't want him sitting at home worrying about me, and I didn't want to break the fragile trust we'd built in the last few weeks.

We kept it short. There wasn't a lot to say. When I went back into the house, the atmosphere had thinned. I stood next to Alice.

"You have all the documents?" Jasper asked, continuing some conversation started while I was outside. Peter nodded before striding over to a desk against the wall and picked up a manila envelope. "Good."

"Want a look?" Peter asked, and Jasper shook his head.

"Better not."

Peter put the envelope back in the drawer and crossed his arms. I hated it when they did this sort of thing, and I wasn't in any mood to play witness to their inside conversation. "What's in there?"

"Jasper got you a present," Peter said. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to divine any sort of context from his expression, but it was useless. The corner of his mouth twitched when he noticed me staring. "You'll find out soon enough. Don't give yourself an aneurysm."

Maybe Alice wasn't going to tell me why she didn't like Peter, but I already had a few guesses. Peter was abrasive.

"It's no big deal," Jasper said, turning his attention to me. "Just some I.D., I thought you might need it."

My gaze shifted back to the drawer Peter had closed. "And you don't want to know what name is on it."

"It's better if we don't. Just in case."

These were all things I never would have thought to consider. This gap that separated me from Jasper, the Cullens, and Edward ― it was ever widening. Though it felt like maybe I could say that I'd stumbled forward a few steps.

"You good?" Jasper asked. I swallowed and nodded. He knew I was lying, but he probably also understood the subtext; that I _would_ be, in time. He kept my turmoil to himself. "I have to get going."

I hadn't realized Jasper would leave so soon. There hadn't been time to give his departure much thought at all. I had devoted all of my energy to getting away from Forks. What came next was lost to me.

Alice pivoted and looped her arms around Jasper's neck. She tipped her head back and smiled. "I'll see you around. You know I'll find you."

"You always do."

"Try not to make it so difficult this time," Alice said, her lips twisted halfway between a pout and a smirk.

Jasper grinned and reached an arm out to pull her closer. "No promises."

I had the feeling he might try to lead her astray a few times, to see if he could. He smiled and leaned his forehead down to rest on hers — I had to look away. To my right, Peter stared out the window. It seemed he didn't enjoy watching Jasper and Alice be sweet to each other, either. Again, I wondered what had happened between him and Charlotte, why she wasn't here with him. Then again, he could have the same thoughts about me and Edward, so I shoved the curiosity to the back of my mind.

Jasper and Alice's farewell was tender, quiet, and radiated certainty that no matter what happened they would find their way back to each other. In comparison, mine seemed cold, lifeless. I wasn't sure what that said about me, or about me and Edward. I found myself making comparisons, trying to guess how I measured up against them with my own goodbyes.

I'd left everything of me behind in Forks with Edward. I gave it willingly, without question. The way that Alice was smiling, she was sure that when Jasper left, he'd be leaving as many pieces of himself as he was taking from her. I wish I'd been able to see these things before. When Jasper left, Alice smiled.

* * *

Peter's house had virtually nothing in the way of human necessities. He made no effort to put on a presentation like the Cullens did. The only things in his kitchen were the appliances I was sure had come with the house. The refrigerator wasn't even plugged in. Alice began poking through the cabinets, muttering to herself about how outrageous Peter's lack of hospitality was. He seemed amused by the scene she was making. I thought Alice was overreacting, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

"It's not like you didn't know she was coming," Alice said, her tone sharp and accusing. Peter shrugged, unbothered. Alice turned her attention to me and said the five most terrifying words in her vocabulary. "We need to go shopping."

Once we'd flown down the driveway and pulled onto the highway, I turned on Alice. "What was all of that about?"

"It's nothing." Alice scowled and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. My jaw clenched. Alice chanced a look at me and sighed. "It's nothing that you need to be concerned about. It's… petty. Nonsense, really."

That was the last she was willing to say on the matter, and I was left wondering what sort of person Jasper had left me with. I was inclined to believe Alice, that whatever dislike hung in the air wasn't of any concern, if only because I didn't want to consider the alternative. Still, I wanted to know why she was being so hostile, and why no one had ever bothered to tell me she had a problem with the man Jasper saw fit to leave us with. She was making me nervous.

Alice changed the topic to what sort of things we needed from the store ― groceries and toiletries, mostly ― and didn't let up until long after she'd swiped her credit card at the checkout and driven us back to Peter's house.

The rest of the day passed quietly and without production. I could be married right now. I could be dancing with Edward at our wedding reception, or getting ready to head off on whatever he had planned for our honeymoon. I felt strangely empty when it came to thoughts of the wedding. Maybe Charlie was right, I hadn't ever really wanted it. Getting married was just another step toward Edward, another thing to tie us together. In the end, the paperwork of our relationship meant next to nothing. Edward was the only one who saw value in a marriage certificate.

I counted the planks of wood crossing the ceiling long into the night; I didn't know it was possible to be so tired. Weeks of bad nights at home compounded with lack of sleep over the past two days made tonight even more frustrating. I barely felt like a person any more.

It had been easier at home; in Charlie's living room. There I'd been able to drift off to the flashing of the television, eventually. I turned to my other side, yanking the covers along with me, and spent the next forty-five minutes hating myself for briefly wishing I was back in Forks. Wasn't that the stupidest notion, ever? I flopped on my back and glared up at the ceiling, angry that one of the most basic human functions was so firmly out of my grasp. The door creaked open a moment later, and I pulled the covers over my head. I didn't want to deal with anyone.

"What's wrong?" Alice asked, climbing up onto the bed next to me. She tugged the blankets from my fists and tilted her head as she stared down at me.

"I can't sleep," I answered. My voice sounded dull and hoarse, and I'd never felt so pathetic in my life. "It's not my room, and it's not Edward. It's me. I can't sleep alone anymore."

"Don't worry, I'll stay with you." Alice turned and reclined against the pillows, and ran her fingers through my hair once before plucking my book from the nightstand.

"That's not really the point, and this isn't okay." I muttered.

"I know, but you'll never get a handle on anything unless you get some rest. So, for now, I'll stay. Tomorrow we can start problem-solving."

To be crying, again, was embarrassing and pathetic. "This isn't who I want to be."

"I know. And believe me, that makes all the difference. Now scoot over. You're hogging the bed."

"You don't have to stay in here because of me," I whispered. I didn't mean it at all.

"Being in here with you is a thousand times better than being out there, with Peter." Alice scowled. "You just ask for all the company you can handle, okay?"

She kept making these little comments about him, and then refusing to tell me what she meant. It could have been that this was one time too many, or that I was simply tired and unwilling to play along. Either way, my next words came out sounding harsh and bitter. "Come on, Alice. Tell me why you don't like him."

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line and refused to answer.

"At least tell me if it's because he's hard to get along with, or if it's something I actually need to be concerned about." I didn't think it was a lot to ask for.

She finally gave in to my badgering. "You don't need to be worried. It really is nothing serious. Peter and I have a rough history, and that's all I'm telling you. Do you honestly think we would have brought you here if it were anything else?"

"I guess not." I rolled my eyes and gave up for the night. She was so difficult sometimes. "I'll get it out of you, eventually."

She cracked a smile at that. "Don't count on it."

"Maybe I'll ask him."

Alice snorted. "You go right ahead. Let me know how it works out for you."

I sighed and folded my arms behind my head, content to keep talking with Alice rather than admit to myself that sleep was most likely hopeless. "I know you won't tell me what's going to happen, but will you at least tell me if it's always going to be like this?"

"No," Alice said after a moment. "It's not always going to be like this. That I can promise you."

"Jasper said that you see me going back to Forks." I didn't need to ask her for clarification on that point, but I wanted to know if what she'd seen had to do with my promise to Charlie, or to do with Edward.

"Of course you go back. Forks is your home." Alice gave me a gentle kick over the sheets and settled back into the pillows with my book. "Now go to sleep. We'll figure the rest out in the morning."


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing I learned was it was quiet in Nebraska, in more ways than one. There was nothing but trees as far as I could see in every direction. Alice did her part, tried to keep me occupied enough that I wouldn't sink too far into toxic thoughts, but there was only so much she could do. It was like living in a dream; just me and my ghosts. Nothing felt real.

Alice and I spent most of our time in the neighboring towns rather than in the house, and Peter ― I wasn't exactly sure what Peter did. He rarely crossed my path; still he was there, in the background. Peter was like Jasper in that way: always there, always watching. He was cautious and careful; agility wasn't inherent, but merely a by-product of his character. He spoke only when he had something to say. These were the paltry things I thought about, to keep myself occupied.

I'd thought it would be hard, missing Edward. When I'd walked away I was determined to become self-reliant, so if we found our way back to each other I would be someone who could stand tall next to him. Instead, I found the constant reminders of his absence to be soothing; as long as I remembered and missed him, I hadn't lost sight of what I'd come here to do. It was easier to think of him this time, even though I still tried to avoid it if I could. Even so, no amount of fortitude could keep me from asking Alice about him. She never would tell me where he was, or what he was doing. I only knew that he wasn't in Forks. I hoped he was doing something fun, like he'd wished for me. I wanted him to be out in the world, living his life, happy.

The days crept by, and I settled into a routine of sorts. I slept — badly most nights — and would wake to Alice cooking breakfast. If Peter was around, he and Alice were invariably arguing. At first it was mostly her; sly remarks and not-so-subtle jabs shot through the house. Peter settled into the rhythm quickly. Within days they were slinging insults and over-worn debate like pros — clawed fingers just centimeters from each other's throats.

It started with the accommodations; Alice harped about everything, floor to ceiling and wall to wall, for an impressive twenty-four hours. Peter spent her entire tirade explaining in ridiculous detail why Alice's haircut was that of a twelve-year-old boy. I quickly realized that when Alice had said her problem with Peter was personal, she'd meant it ― just not in the way I'd assumed. They were keeping score; it was about winning. After four days it was starting to be funny. Alice did not agree with me on that point.

The insults they traded were mostly tame, at least the ones I understood ― I'd heard far worse from Jacob and his friends on a daily basis ― and Peter's goal appeared to be to mess with Alice more than anything else. He was almost like Emmett in that way. He was a teasing core wrapped up in Jasper's armor. I still wasn't sure what to make of him. We barely talked, and when we did it was always superficial, with an awkward tint. It wasn't Alice that made Peter a little confrontational; the edge was built into him.

My gaze settled on two books stacked on the coffee table ― it seemed every day something new crawled its way into the house. I tilted my head to read the spines. Austen and Steinbeck. I was sure it was Alice's way of trying to make me feel more comfortable. It wasn't necessary. I felt more at ease around Peter than I thought I would when we arrived; he was so similar to Jasper it was hard not to. Their mannerisms, their quiet ― they ran in the same vein. In some ways I was more comfortable around Peter than I was with Alice, but that was probably because she was keeping such obvious secrets from me, and I didn't expect Peter to tell me anything.

It had only been a week, but I could already imagine my wounds closing. Everything was easier here. There was no one to appease, no Edward sewn into the walls. The screams of the dying were becoming garbled and faded. I wasn't sure how I felt about it; I had some sick need in me to keep hearing that girl, to keep smelling her ashes on the wind. If I didn't remember her last moments, no one would.

Deciding was the easy part. Convincing Alice was another battle entirely. The point of this whole endeavor, the reason I was here, was to learn to stand on my own. To rip down the safety net, so I could find out who I was, even if it meant falling. I couldn't do that with Alice here. She should be with Jasper, not holding my hand my while I figured myself out. I wasn't comfortable, not by a long shot, but I'd gotten used to Peter, and that was all I needed before I could tell Alice she could go. Now that the initial shock had worn off I could see that Jasper's faith in Peter wasn't unfounded, and that was better than I hoped for. I'd survived much worse, and if it turned out that it wasn't Alice making him so irritable, well, I could survive Peter, too. I always was good at believing the little lies whispering in the back of my head.

It took days before I was able to lie convincingly enough to get Alice to consider leaving. Another two were spent arguing about it, then a third where she refused out of pure spite. She dragged it out for a week before she finally began to pack up the few things she'd brought with her.

"You're not going to ask what the future has in store for you?" Alice asked with a smile, her bags crammed full of the enormous amount of stuff she'd accumulated. We really did shop far too much.

"I think I'm okay with not knowing. For now."

Alice gave me a lingering and suspicious look, but if she thought my motives weren't what they seemed, she didn't say anything. Maybe she was thankful for the opportunity to go find her husband. Maybe she didn't like Peter _that_ much.

"You call me if you need _anything_ ," Alice said, holding my hand a little too tight. "I'm serious, Bella. Anything."

"I'll be all right."

Alice gave me a little half-smile. "Yes, you will, won't you?"

I pressed my lips together and stood at the window the moment she walked out of the house. "Looks like it's just you and me."

"Seems that way." Peter said. When I turned from the view of the empty driveway, Peter had a thoughtful expression on his face. He frowned a little and then started gathering the various items strewn around the living room.

"What are you doing?"

Peter held a hand out in front of him and cocked his head to the side. He waited for what must have been five minutes before explaining. "Pack up. We're not staying."

"What? Why?" I stood still in the middle of the living room when I realized I was following him around like some sort of puppy.

"Double-blind," Peter said. It was all the explanation I got. "Pack."

"I don't know what that means."

Peter shook his head. He looked annoyed. "It means that anyone who knows where we are is a liability. That includes Alice. And Jasper."

"But Alice―"

"Alice can't see me," Peter said before I had the chance to finish voicing my worry.

That was... that was sort of fascinating, and for the moment my curiosity won out over my anger with Alice for never telling me about this blind spot. This one little thing explained so much. No wonder Alice didn't like Peter, and no wonder she'd refused to tell me why. "She can't? Why not?"

Peter shrugged. He didn't seem to care. "I don't know. She's never been able to. Why do you think it took her so long to hunt down Jasper?"

"Edward can't read my mind." I blurted out the first relevant thing that occurred to me. Peter didn't seem to care about that, either. "Why didn't she just say so?"

In truth, I wasn't surprised, and the moment I came to this conclusion Peter answered with the very thing I'd been thinking. "Alice admit that she's got a weak point? She'd never."

I waited for a moment to see if he would say anything else, but he didn't, and I changed the subject to the more pressing matter. "I'm not going anywhere until I talk to Jasper."

I wouldn't budge on this point. I refused to let him drag me around with no idea what was happening and no assurances that this was something Jasper would expect. I couldn't allow the only person who knew where I was to be Peter; he may have been Jasper's friend, but that didn't earn him enough trust for me to do this. Peter cocked a brow at me, the corner of his lip twitching. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed. I crossed my arms and waited.

"She wants to talk to you," Peter said into the receiver. He shook his head as he listened to Jasper's reply. "Uncooperative is an understatement."

He took three long strides to stand in front of me, pressed his phone to my palm, and went to stand across the room the second my fingers curled around the device and pressed it to my ear. Somewhere in the back of my head I noticed Peter had never said this many words to me before. The moment Alice left, his attention shifted, and now I was square in the middle of it. I'd considered this possibility; I shouldn't have assumed I'd get a grace period.

"Jasper?"

"What's wrong?" Jasper had the same tone as when we'd been discussing my flight from Washington. A little distanced, calculating. It calmed me, and I grudgingly admitted that I felt better about the situation once I realized that all I had to do was demand to speak with Jasper, and Peter would see to it.

"Peter wants to relocate."

"I figured he would," Jasper replied.

I glared at Peter's smug expression. "This all makes me very nervous."

"It's only a precaution, Bella," Jasper said. "I would do the same thing. It's probably unnecessary, but we need to contain information about your whereabouts as much as possible. Just like with Edward. Just in case."

His argument was infuriating in the way that it made complete sense, and there was no way to fight it. I took a deep breath to calm myself and muttered. "I don't like this."

Instead of giving false assurances, Jasper said, "I'm assuming this means Alice is on her way, that you told her to go ahead and leave, even though you didn't want her to."

He was guessing, he had to be; or maybe I really was that miserably predictable.

"Peter and I are getting along fine." Or, at least we had been. Sort of. It might have come across more convincingly if I hadn't snapped my teeth at the end.

Jasper laughed again, even Peter was on the cusp of a chuckle. "He's really not so bad."

"Easy for you to say."

Peter cleared his throat. I couldn't tell if he was amused or irritated. I scowled, in case it was the latter. He resumed gathering his belongings from the living room and disappeared down the hall, emerging after only a few seconds with a large duffel bag.

"How much of a head start do I have?" Jasper asked.

"She left not long before we called you. Maybe twenty minutes, now?"

"Thanks for the warning." Jasper laughed, and an unbidden grin spread over my face.

"Don't drive her too crazy. She misses you."

"The chase is half the fun," Jasper said, before excusing himself from the conversation.

The line went dead, and once again, there was only me and Peter standing across the room from each other. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing.

Peter approached me with caution, pried his phone out from between my fingers, and shoved the envelope he'd shown Jasper the day we arrived into my hands. This time when he spoke, he was less harsh. "Go pack."

I reluctantly headed to gather my things. I ripped the flap off the envelope halfway down the hall, and once the bedroom door had slammed shut with a suitable crack, I dumped the contents on the bed. I took one look at the driver's license and tossed everything into my suitcase. He could have at least used a decent picture if he was going to give me such an insulting name.

Getting ready to go was easy; most of my things were still in bags ― but convincing me to pack turned out to be the easy part. I didn't know where we were going or why, and I was sick and tired of being trampled over. I didn't want to be directed, I wanted to have some say in what happened to me. I was tired and confused, and teetering on the edge of something that I wasn't sure I could handle. I wanted to _fight._ So, I hoisted my bags over my shoulder and into my arms, kicked the bedroom door open, and started shouting before I made it halfway back down the hallway, "If it's not too much to ask, would you mind explaining what the hell is going on? And really? Jan Brady? I could kill you."

"You go right ahead and try. At least I made you old enough to go to the bar." Peter looked far too proud of himself. Alice was right, he was insufferable. I was going to run him over with the car if I ever got the chance. "You got everything?"

I nodded, and he grabbed his bag from the couch and headed toward the door, leaving me to stumble after him.

"I still think this is an overreaction," I protested as I heaved my bags into the trunk. He could have helped.

"Jasper told me to make you disappear. If you would prefer it, I could leave you in a ditch somewhere; if not, get in the car."

The desire to rebel simmered under my skin. I wanted to show Peter that he couldn't boss me around and walk all over me. I wanted him to know from the start that I wasn't going to let him take my decisions away ― or maybe it was more important to prove it to myself. I wasn't ever going to win our staring contest; my eyes were already starting to burn. I got in the car.

Peter shoved the car in reverse and backed down the driveway so fast I had to close my eyes. "You drive like Alice."

"Now, that was uncalled for," Peter said as the car spun. He shifted to drive and sped down the street.

I had spent far too much time racing down highways lately.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"Not far."

Three hours later I asked the same question and received the same answer. I didn't think I'd ever get used to vampires and their concepts of time and distance. And then there was the silence: there were no sounds to compete with the wind rushing against the car windows. The atmosphere was oppressive. Every time I shifted my posture or drummed my fingers against the door handle, the noise was deafening.

"Stop fidgeting." Peter reached toward the center console and turned on the radio.

I spent the next twenty miles glaring out the window.

As we passed another exit ramp I sighed, and Peter had a small amount of mercy on me. "I hired a caretaker, so the necessities should have been handled; food, magazine subscriptions, compressed balls of scented salt and soda, whatever it is teenage girls need."

I closed my eyes and tried to restrain my irritation into something short of slapping him. "You must think I'm awfully shallow if you believe all I need to survive is food and a magazine in the bathtub."

"It's not like I've seen you do much besides eat and read," Peter countered, and I gnashed my teeth.

"You know that's not all I do."

"Oh, I suppose you've got a point." Peter nodded. "You also shop."

The most infuriating part of it was that in the past year I'd done nothing of note to correct him with. I had nothing to show for all the time I'd spent in Forks. How pathetic. I needed to find a hobby.

I turned the conversation back toward Peter. At least we were talking. "What do you do for money?"

"I find people."

The way he phrased it sent a chill down my spine. "Like Demetri?"

"No, like a normal person," Peter answered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. It was such an oddly human gesture.

"What kind of people?"

Peter shrugged. "All kinds."

"For who?" I asked more insistently. There was something uncomfortable about how he deflected my questions.

"For whoever wants them," Peter answered. I was sure he was rolling his eyes. "What about you? Why don't you tell me what exactly it is that I missed during our weeks together?"

"I'm good, thanks. I'd rather talk about _your_ job." I couldn't help but be a little proud of myself for refuting his attempt to change the subject.

"There isn't much to tell," Peter said, switching lanes with a sharp jerk. I couldn't tell if he was hiding something or just trying to bother me. Probably both.

"Do your customers―"

Peter interrupted. "Clients."

"Fine. _Clients._ " He wouldn't distract me with these games. "Do they know what you are?"

"What I am?" Peter glanced my way, eyebrow arched. "What exactly is it I am?"

With every passing day the list of words I associated with Peter grew ― today that list had practically exploded ― but I wanted to stay on topic rather than call him a jerk. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid I have no idea." He took the first exit after crossing the border into Kansas and pulled into a grocery store a little over a mile past the highway. "Get whatever else you need."

I spent twice as long as I needed in the store so I could say I'd inconvenienced him in some small way. It was only fair, if petty.

Peter shook his head when I came back to the car, but said nothing. Another thirty minutes later we were coasting down another exit ramp, this one marked Andover. My leg bounced in anticipation. I wasn't ever subjecting myself to another car ride with him.

The scenery littering the offshoots of the highway faded into trees and narrower roads. Peter turned onto a private drive, and I started paying more attention to my surroundings as I tried to figure out where we were. We cleared the crest of a hill: scattered houses spread out in cul de sacs and twisty avenues beyond a wrought-iron gate came into view. It was the last place I expected.

"What's with the gate?" I asked.

"The surrounding communities seem to have a bit of a dangerous element. People going missing every now and then. The Homeowner's Association decided to add some security. Started about when I bought the house."

"You didn't…"

"Man's gotta eat," Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. I couldn't figure out if the sheer audacity of what he was implying horrified or amused me. "Besides, how else was I supposed to ensure my property value didn't tank?"

"That's terrible."

"A little." Peter conceded in a way I suspected meant he didn't agree at all. "If it makes you feel better, I could tell you I was extremely selective. Of course, how would you know if I was lying or not?"

There was no answer to a question like that. I supposed I would just have to believe he wasn't. I didn't think I could handle being around him otherwise.

The area reminded me of a diluted suburb. The yards were enormous, and the houses were all built in the same four styles, dug into hills so you couldn't tell if it was the basement or first floor that opened up to a patio out back, hidden beneath another masquerading as a balcony. Some even had white picket fences. Nearly every single house had little peaks in the roof in the same few places: above the garage, or off to the side of the front door.

"Isn't this a tad conspicuous?" I asked. This wasn't a new development: these houses were occupied.

"Do you honestly think that if someone was looking for you, they'd look here? It's not like if the Volturi can't find you, they'll send someone across the Atlantic to comb through every square mile of America."

I hadn't really thought about it that way.

"What would they do?" I asked, curious and a bit afraid of what the answer might be.

"They would explore alternate means of location. I doubt they would have any success."

"And why not?"

"Because we've already covered those tracks." Peter didn't seem inclined to share any more, and I let the subject drop, for now.

The silence was thick. The moment Peter pulled into a driveway identical to all the others, I bolted from the car and did the one thing I knew how to when the stifling atmosphere became too much. I avoided. "I have to call my dad."

"You can't tell your father where we are," Peter said harshly, rounding the car behind me. "It's better for him if he doesn't know. He needs to have plausible deniability."

Two words have never made me so furious. "You mean if they torture him, he can't give me up this way."

"Yes."

I'd become used to blunt answers during my brief friendship with Jasper, but Peter was something else entirely. Logic couldn't possibly compete with the rage I felt. Charlie wasn't a tool to be used, he wasn't to be manipulated. Not anymore. "Let's get something straight. You get no say in what I do or do not tell my father. He's off-limits to you."

Peter shook his head and scowled. "You seem to be operating under the assumption that being oblivious is not what is best for him in this situation. It would take very little to confirm he knows nothing. However, if he has information and hides it, it would be obvious to anyone who knows what they're doing. That is what would put him in danger."

"So what? I should just keep lying to him? I can't do that."

"You have to. You lie to keep him safe. To protect him." Peter's voice became less condescending, more insistent. "You have yet to learn this lesson, so I'll spell it out for you. Sometimes we do what is wrong; we mortgage our soul to save another. If you love him, you will pay that price."

"How could you possibly know what lessons I have or haven't learned?" I shot back. He didn't know anything about me, and here he was, picking every insecurity I had apart with disturbing accuracy. He made me feel boring. Predictable. It wasn't fair to hate him for it, but I couldn't be bothered by such trivial things right now.

"It doesn't take much to figure you out."

My head felt five seconds from exploding all over the perfectly manicured lawn. This house was much better taken care of than the one in Nebraska. Here, there was no avoiding appearances. I wondered what the neighbors thought of us: fresh arrivals already fighting in front of the pristine house that matched two others in sight.

Since Peter was already irritated, I saw no harm in diving right back into the only topic I truly wanted to discuss with him. "Why can't Alice see you?" Peter looked about as inclined to answer as he had before. I barged ahead with my next two questions. "Aren't you curious? Is it your gift?"

"I doubt it's a gift," Peter answered, rolling his eyes and waving an arm as if to brush me aside.

"How can you not care?" It was unfathomable. I wanted to learn everything I could about whatever it was that kept Edward and Aro out of my head ― what had saved me from Jane's torture ― and here he was not giving a crap that he might have the answer.

Peter growled. "You are immensely irritating ― maybe that's _your_ gift."

"My gift is like yours," I insisted. I hadn't ever called it anything but a quirk, or a defect, but I felt defensive about this head of mine, if only because he was insulting it. I had an insane need to prove to him that I was more than what lay on the surface. That he didn't know all of me.

"You're human." It was the first time he'd sounded even remotely invested in the conversation.

"It's still there," I snapped. "It's different, but it's there."

He held my gaze until I was forced to blink. Though my eyes were closed for only an instant, when they opened again he was fixedly staring over my head. Irritable and confused over the flicker of interest I'd seen in Peter, I crossed my arms with a huff. I didn't understand how something so huge could be of no consequence to him, when something so little ― something he shouldn't even care about ― could make him curious. Maybe Peter was surprised; Edward had told me so many times that the gifts he and his family had were things that hadn't come to fruition until they became vampires.

Even though I knew there was no point in subtlety, I muttered, "I can see why Alice doesn't like you."

"That feeling is mutual. She's a loud and demanding munchkin. I have no patience for her."

I should have let it drop. This argument was getting worse and worse because I refused to stand down, and Peter clearly wasn't capable of walking away without getting his piece in. "And what about me? What could I possibly have done to offend you so much in less than two weeks?"

He took longer to formulate his response this time. "You run from what scares you. You are weak, because it is easier that way." Peter tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You don't ask the right questions. You don't strive to understand."

"I am _trying_." I snarled, impressed with myself for sounding so fierce.

"You are looking for the wrong answers. Who you are? That's already decided. It's set in stone. The questions you ask; those are what matters. What you do with what you learn, _that_ is what defines you." Peter gave a slight shake of his head. "But you won't search for answers because you're scared. All talk and no follow-through. What do you expect to learn sitting inside with a book?"

His assessment was dead-on. How was I supposed to get anything straight in my head like this? I took a breath, closed my eyes, and promised myself that it wasn't always going to take Peter pointing out my faults for me to realize what a mess I was. I started spewing excuses. "You're not the one who might have the entire vampire… monarchy, or whatever it is, after you."

"Who says they're not after me, too?" Peter asked, and this time it was me who scoffed. Peter liked to stir the pot just to get a reaction. Half of what came out of his mouth was nonsense.

"You're full of it."

"So are you."

"Talking to you is _exhausting!_ " He made me feel like my head would explode.

"Better toughen up, then."

"You have no idea what I've gone through." My voice cracked, but I couldn't find it in myself to be embarrassed. "You don't know _anything_ about me."

Peter clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "I had you pegged in five minutes. You may have thrown me a couple of times, but the gist? Yeah, I got that. Do _you_ even know who you are? What builds you? We both know you have no idea, and you're here because you're starting to realize that."

I refused to blink. The truth was that I knew exactly what I was right now: I was Edward's. Everything that was me was all wrapped up in him, and I hated it. "I'm an eighteen-year-old girl thrown into a world where I'm no more than an insect. I'm trying to learn how to survive; how to be okay with what's going to happen to me. I don't need you to remind me I'm failing."

Peter's head shifted. "I'm not going to coddle you. You're on your own here. Isn't that what you wanted? Or do you just want to take the training wheels off only to have me run alongside so you don't get hurt?"

I felt defensive and on-edge. I hated how easy it was for Peter to get to me. He already had me raw and cut up into neat, little, cliché pieces all over the front lawn and we'd been here less than an hour. He made my blood boil. He made me feel weak and worthless by choice; like I kept myself tethered instead of rising above to become something better. The worst part was that I wasn't sure he was wrong.

"I don't need you or anyone else to save me." My words were shaky but strong, and something in them caused Peter to regard me with more scrutiny than before.

"No, what you need to learn is that there is a difference between being helped and being rescued."

"I supposed you have all the answers?"

"Not even close." Peter turned and headed up the driveway. "You coming or not?"

I turned around and walked the other way.

"In a little while then?" Peter called, mocking me. I refused to turn around to look. I kept going; past the end of the driveway and down the street.


	7. Chapter 7

The first day in Andover went by in near silence. The second wasn't much better.

Peter hung around the house more than he had in Nebraska, but I didn't know what to say to him. The feeling was mutual: we crossed lines in our last conversation. Part of me could recognize that this was beneficial—we had to know where the lines were if we were going to learn to live with each other. The greater, more influential part of me didn't have such perspective. I wasn't sure Peter cared about crossing lines in the first place.

I wanted to ask Alice, to get her take on this awkwardness coasting through me ― but I wasn't sure if she'd leave me be or try to find us, and so our conversations stayed light. This time, I really was on my own. I was sure Alice knew that I hadn't actually wanted her to leave and she seemed to feel guilty for doing so, but listening to her running commentary as she methodically tracked Jasper down was enough for me to know that I'd done the right thing. Alice deserved to be happy instead of stuck with me while I moped. She certainly got a thrill from chasing Jasper, every bit as he enjoyed taunting her, just out of reach.

The yard was vast, and the weather beautiful. A mighty deck ran along the back of the house with stairs leading down to the patio below, and more often than not, if the sun was shining, that's where I went. The house was stifling. There was no air conditioning, no open windows. At least in the yard the heat had the breeze to contend with.

At first, I'd ventured out front, but then there were neighbors to contend with. They waved and asked questions I didn't know how to answer. When an overly friendly red-head ― the third woman in two hours to walk by with boisterous greetings and a toothy smile ― asked about my husband, I was struck dumb with indecision over whether I should correct her or give in to the hysterics racing through me. I immediately decided that I would avoid these people at all costs. To play Peter off as my husband was absurd, and I wouldn't do it. Besides, I hated introducing myself as Jan.

I dragged my chair into direct sunlight throughout the day, so that if Peter came out, there would be an uncrossable line separating us; it let me feel like I had some slight control over our distance. Or, it would have, if Peter ever showed his face outside during the daytime. Peter spent his time inside; in the living room or locked up in one of the downstairs bedrooms. Working. Finding people. The term still sent a shiver down my spine and brought with it the memory of Demetri's cold face and red eyes. I didn't like Peter's job at all.

The week progressed in a steady rhythm of monotony, boredom, and roasting alive in the Kansas summer. Peter and I both thawed, trying for some semblance of normalcy, though neither of us were entirely successful. I resolved to try harder; to not make it so easy for Peter to push my buttons. For his part, he seemed to be doing alright with the temptation.

* * *

I didn't know what Peter's aversion to air conditioning was, but I was more than willing to torture it out of him. The machine stood out there in the lawn, taunting me, but completely non-functional. I'd tried everything I could think of.

This house was similar to the one we'd left in Nebraska. There were a few human touches strewn about: magazines on the hall table, food in the kitchen, laundry detergent downstairs—things Peter's caretaker had taken care of. There was a standard-issue couch in the living room that Peter preferred, and a large wooden desk pushed up against the half-wall shared with the kitchen so that Peter could use the wall as a second tier of work space.

The walls had no pictures on them. The fireplace was closed up, and the windows didn't want to open. That last part made the current lack of air conditioning utter hell.

"It's called companionable silence," Peter said. "And it doesn't work if you're fidgeting every twenty seconds."

For a moment I wondered if he was trying to make me miserable on purpose. Ever since Alice had left, Peter had been more engaging, meaning that most of the time we bickered like four-year-olds. I wasn't sure if it had to do with the change of location or the absence of her. Regardless, I wasn't sure how I felt about this new version of Peter I had to get used to. Some days I was sure he hated me. Others, I thought he was trying to make me angry, just to see what I would do. Jasper was such a liar; now that we were alone, Peter constantly invaded my space.

"Are you really never comfortable unless someone is talking at you?"

I glared.

"I suppose if it's that important I could go kidnap you a friend," Peter said, expert sarcasm wound into the offer. "Or buy you a parrot. But I don't know how you'd fare with such high-level conversation."

"I'm perfectly fine on my own. No kidnapping required; sorry to put a damper on your evening plans." It sounded harsh, even to me. "And the last thing we need is a parrot ― with my luck it would pick up your stellar people skills and only stop sulking long enough to throw insults."

"You're so grouchy today."

"I'd be in a better mood if it wasn't one-hundred degrees in here. I'm going to melt."

"Humans don't melt." Peter scoffed before adopting a thoughtful expression. "Although I suppose they could. I never tried that one."

If I hadn't already learned my lesson about punching supernatural creatures, I surely would have tried it on Peter.

"It's a figure of speech."

"No shit. If you're that miserable, then why don't you go buy a fan or something?" Peter leaned forward far enough to pull his billfold from his back pocket and tossed it my way. It hit me in the chest with a dull thud. Maybe if I had a baseball bat, hitting him wouldn't hurt me. "Go nuts."

Jasper was insane for leaving me here. Peter may have started out quiet, but the more time wore on the more apparent it became that he got some sort of perverse pleasure out of digging at me. Between the heat and my already frayed nerves, I was starting to break.

"I won't have you paying my way. I have money of my own." I threw his billfold right back at him. I missed my mark by a few inches. He didn't even try to catch it.

"And when that runs out?" Peter asked, chuckling at the look on my face. He rolled his eyes. "This is where most people would say they'd get a _job_."

My eyes must have been wide as saucers. "You would let me work? I thought the point of this whole _thing_ was that you're supposed to be guarding me."

"I don't give a shit if you want to run around town all day screaming 'I'm Bella Swan, come and get me!'"

"I'm not that stupid."

"I didn't say you were. You must think lowly of me, that you assume I couldn't keep an eye on you while you bag groceries or flip burgers, or whatever menial position you'd find yourself half-qualified for." Peter arched an eyebrow, and I thought that somewhere in our back and forth I might have actually managed to offend him. Good. He'd offended me quite a bit, too.

"I can do more than bag groceries." We both knew I was lying.

"Then go do it." Peter shrugged and let the argument of my qualifications drop.

"I assumed that it would make everything more difficult," I said carefully. "That you have your own life you're living, and you wouldn't want to waste so much time following me around when it would be easier to keep me close by."

Peter stalked over to my purse and pulled out my wallet. He handed it to me with a scowl. "You don't think this is as shallow as all that, do you? When Jasper told me you needed a new identity, do you think I half-assed it? Does that I.D. look cheap? Disposable?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," I admitted, turning the fabric over in my hands, not wanting to open it up and do as Peter asked. Feeling foolish and naïve was a daily occurrence, now. I never thought about things like fake identities and what steps went into making them, what their ultimate purposes were.

When Peter spoke again, he was quiet. "It was explained to me that you need some time to sort out your feelings. How are you supposed to do that if you're locked up in a house with only me for company? This isn't a prison. This is your new life. Do you not understand that? You're kept here of your own choosing. This cage has no lock."

I stared at him for what must have been a whole minute, dumbfounded. His words crashed through my memories, shattering happier moments with this dark perspective. This cage has no lock. There was no denying that before ― in Forks ― it did. Maybe this was the real reason why Jasper sent me here, of all places. Trading comfort for freedom. Or maybe I was over-thinking things again.

"Car keys are on the table," Peter said, gesturing toward the front hallway.

My eyes widened as I tried to formulate some response that wouldn't make me sound like an idiot. Not that I ever could. Peter was good at twisting around anything to suit his point; trying to keep up with him was hopeless. More often than not, any attempt wound up making me sound like an increasingly irrational little girl. Finally, I gave up trying to sound smart and asked, "You're going to let me use your car?"

The last thing I expected Peter to do was laugh. "Why would I care?"

"I- I'm surprised is all. That you'd let me drive it." Here I was, feeling off-kilter from something simple, again.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Cullens and their cars."

I cracked a smile before remembering I was angry with him and wiped it from my face. "I never understood that, either."

Peter kept his eyes trained on me for an uncomfortable stretch of time, and the moment I made a break for the front door to flee, he frowned. "You can take the car whenever you want. You may come and go as you please. You can go get a job, or volunteer, or shop. Pick up a new hobby every week; make a valiant attempt to spend all my money, if that's what you want to do. You're not in hiding, not in the way you're used to. Being here, with me, is not punishment for your past crimes."

I swallowed and tried to articulate a counter-argument; or a response of any kind. I couldn't. There was no reply, because Peter had ripped the curtains framing my vision to shreds in a single breath.

"Is freedom really so foreign to you?"

I had to bite the rude words from the tip of my tongue. I didn't think Peter was trying to be insulting, not this time. In his own way, it was almost like he was trying to help. So instead of calling him an asshole or storming off, I said, "I'm not used to this."

"Believe it or not, I understand," Peter replied after a moment. "I _have_ met Edward, after all."

Maybe the key to coexisting with him in peace laid in not actively trying to keep arguments going. It was too bad that I couldn't let his comment go unchallenged. "Edward only wanted to keep me safe."

"Can you honestly say that the way he went about it was good for you?" Peter asked, stopping my argument in its tracks ― because no, I couldn't say that.

"You don't know anything about what happened between us."

"I know enough." Peter shrugged and went back to whatever he'd been doing on his computer before we'd started talking.

"I love him," I protested. The sentiment was robust, but the words were weak, and both Peter and I knew it.

"So? That doesn't mean you should be together, or that what you had before was good. It only means that you love him."

It was such an odd notion to find comfort in, but it soothed me. To hear someone else acknowledge that yes, there was love between me and Edward, but that it wasn't enough... it helped.

"Charlotte―"

Peter interrupted me immediately, the beginnings of a growl rumbling in his chest. "I have no desire to discuss her."

"What happened to her?" I asked, even though I knew I shouldn't have.

Peter's face stilled into a hard and callous expression. I'd never seen him so frigid. "She's gone."

I didn't know if Peter meant that she had left him, or that she'd died, and I didn't ask. It wasn't any of my business. I never shouldn't have brought it up in the first place.

"Sorry," I mumbled. Though he'd been brash and unforgiving with me, I felt bad for prying. Still, curiosity ran rampant, and I began to plot another way to find answers. I wanted to know about her, and why she wasn't here; if she was the reason Peter was this way, and if his loss was an omen of what could become of me.

Peter grunted in response, and the room fell quiet around us. For once, it was Peter who broke the silence. "Call me cruel if you want, but the fact of the matter is that you know even less about me than I do about you. We're both running on nothing but assumptions."

"All right," I said, trying to instill that same deep, rumbling tone to my voice that he used so often. "What is it that makes you so strong? Other than being a vampire and a substantial jerk, I don't see much for you to brag about."

"My power lies in doing what others will not." The statement rushed through me with a chill, and I knew Peter was stating fact. It terrified me, this certainty of his character.

"And you think you're so much better than me because you can say that about yourself?"

"I'm not better than you," Peter said, "but at least I know my strengths."

I had nothing to say back; it was infuriating. I stared at the car keys and tried to figure out how fast I could get to the car and out of the driveway. If I was lucky, maybe I could avoid another mindless chatter-fest with a wandering neighbor.

"Just go."

I swiped the keys from the table and stormed out the front door, my fingers still curled tight around my wallet. I probably wouldn't have gone back for it if it wasn't.

As it turned out, luck wasn't on my side for a swift getaway.

"Oh, if it isn't the elusive Jan!"

I automatically cringed at the name sang out over the lawn and had to shore up an embarrassing amount of nerve before I could turn away from the car. I tried to adopt a friendly face to greet the woman jogging up the driveway, a beagle trotting behind her. Fantastic. "Yeah. Hi, um―"

"Sheila," the woman supplied.

I tried to smile, at least somewhat convincingly. She might have been the nicest woman in the world, but I couldn't stand her long enough to find out. "Sheila. How's it going?"

"Oh, you know, can't complain. What about you? How's that husband of yours?" An entirely too curious grin spread over her face. I kind of wanted to slap her. No one should be that perky. "We never see him around much. He must work all the time."

I planned to roll my eyes and ignore her, but the sudden opportunity to cause Peter some grief was too tempting to let pass.

"Yeah. He's been putting in a lot of extra hours." I leaned in. "Frustrated, you know. Because of the infertility."

Her mouth dropped open in shock ― for my candid answer or the value of gossip I'd dropped on her, I didn't know ― and I used her distraction to get myself into the car and turn over the engine. I waved before backing down the driveway; Sheila was still in a stupor when I shifted gears and took off down the street. Maybe Peter wouldn't be bothered, but I couldn't help but hope he would be. It'd serve him right.

I blamed the heat when I decided that I would fix the air conditioner myself instead of getting a new one or hiring the help, even though I didn't have the slightest idea how. The far too helpful salesman at the hardware store was to blame for talking me into buying more than I could have possibly needed for the project. Three books, endless tools, and another two dozen items littering the bottom of my shopping cart later, and I told myself that this was for Peter's house anyway, and he was crazy for not making sure the damn thing worked in the first place. I used the credit card stuck in my wallet next to my fake and insulting driver's license instead of my own reserve of cash. I didn't know who I was trying to prove a point to anymore.

It was a nice town I'd found myself in. It looked like a small community ― the downtown area was only a handful of blocks and within walking distance of the house, a park stretched further than I could have imagined. I made note of the area, itching to explore. I hadn't allowed myself to consider the surroundings before; now I realized these were all places I could go, that I didn't have to stick to Peter's side day in and day out.

I slowed to five miles below the speed limit once I'd passed the security checkpoint leading into the neighborhood and willed myself to present a calm and collected exterior. I'd had enough of making a fool out of myself.

I should have taken the bags in two trips, but instead I grabbed them all and stumbled my way through the front door, kicking it shut behind me.

Peter watched the spectacle with wide eyes from his seat on the couch. "What, did you buy out the entire store?"

"Don't make too much fun of me; you paid for it."

"I didn't think you had it in you. Looks heavy," Peter said, nodding to the bags currently trying to rip my shoulders out of their sockets.

"You're not even going to pretend to help, are you?" I asked, instantly hating that I assumed he would.

"Nope. I've got a lot of work to do. You know, because I'm so distraught over my sperm count." For a second, I thought he might be angry with me, but then I caught a quirk to his lips and amusement shining in his eyes. Apparently, Peter could take as well as he gave.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"Obviously." Peter let out an amused huff.

I dumped the bags on the floor by the back door and settled on the couch with the books.

"What are those for?" Peter asked. I glanced up to see that he still had the hint of a smile on his face.

"I'm going to fix your defunct air-conditioner," I said, sounding far more confident than I had any right to.

"You are, huh?" Peter asked. I said nothing. "Well, good for you."

It sounded like he meant it.

* * *

I stared down the broken air-conditioner, the books from the hardware store stacked neatly at my side. Realistically, I knew that I didn't have a chance at fixing this on my own, but I had a nagging itch under my skin to _do_ something. I'd had a measure of success, slow-paced as it was—the glimmer of pride I'd been hoping for made me smile. It felt good, even if the next step was lost to me. The compressor was far from fixed, but at least I'd helped it along.

Two of hours of tinkering later the sun cast a long shadow over the yard, and Peter made an appearance. Once I got over my shock at seeing him outside, it became apparent he meant to help, and it was with a grudging acceptance that I let him. Maybe this was one of those things he'd insisted fell further on to the side of being helped rather than being saved. It was only an air-conditioner. There was nothing life-threatening or substantially important about it.

We worked quietly ― mostly Peter worked, while I constantly referred to the books so I could keep up with what he was doing.

"You can ask questions, you know," Peter said, double checking the fuses I'd already seen to before moving on to the coil, and what took me a moment to identify as the fins.

"I really hope this isn't knowledge I have to put to use again." I sighed and wiped the sweat from my brow. I glanced back at the book.

"Oh, so this isn't practice for a new career?"

"No." I glared, but it wasn't sincere. "That would become quite the talk around here. These people are far too interested in us. You know they all think we're married, right?"

"What did you think they were going to assume?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "Seems like a bit of a stretch. We're not even wearing rings."

"Maybe they're just trying to be nice. They might actually think you're my mistress." Peter brushed the grime from his hands before checking over his work.

The parts I'd done required far less skill or certainty, but like him, I verified it was all done correctly, if only for something to keep my hands occupied. "Funny."

"I'll check the evaporator in the morning," Peter muttered. It took me far too long to figure out what he was talking about. I'd been so focused on this part ― the part I was sure I could at least try to fix it myself ― that I'd nearly forgotten there was still another component to look at.

I stood when he did, and it felt awkward, said, "Thanks."

"Ah, see? You're learning." Peter smirked and headed into the house. I hated following him around. "Next time, just ask for help. It's not nearly as wounding as you seem to think."

"Is it hard for you, like it is for the Cullens?" I blurted out the question before I'd thought it through and rushed to clarify. "Being around me, I mean. Edward always said it was difficult."

Peter studied me from a yard away and answered carefully. "No, I don't have any trouble being around you. But I'm very well fed, and they are…"

"They abstain," I answered for him, only for Peter to shake his head and correct me.

"They are anomalies, and the price they pay for a clear conscience is high." I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear the next part. "The burdens I carry are quite different."

His phrasing sent shivers through me. I didn't want to think about things like who or what to kill and what sort of effect it might have, especially not when Peter was staring so knowingly. "What kind of price?"

Peter watched me out of the corner of his eye as he answered, "If you tallied up my body count, you'd find I fall far short of every one of the Cullens."

"It's not the same…" I sounded every bit as unsure as I felt.

"No? It's still a beating heart ― a mind gone silent and a creature no longer walking this earth. It's still killing. Just because an animal can't plead for mercy doesn't mean it can't scream."

Five more seconds of this conversation and I was going to be sick all over him. I had to change the subject, I couldn't let him talk about this anymore. It was too bad my mouth had already run away with another question. "How many?"

The door slamming shut behind us nearly startled me out of my skin. Peter turned around a few paces into the house to face me and said, "I'm sure you already know that answer, at least where the Cullens are involved, so I'll assume your real question is how many people do I kill?"

I nodded and hoped that whatever his answer was, it wouldn't shatter the sliver of control I had over myself.

"Twelve," Peter bit out. "Twelve a year. No exceptions. So, tell me, who's the monster out there in the dark? Me or Edward?"

"Edward isn't a monster," I insisted. It was second nature to rebuff any insinuation that he was.

"And what about me?" Peter asked. He arched a brow and crossed his arms, ready to debate this point until he either won or decided I was too naïve to argue with.

I had nothing to lose, so I told him the truth. "I haven't figured that part out yet."

Whatever it was he'd expected me to say, that wasn't it. He nodded and relaxed his posture. "Fair enough."

"May I ask you something else?" I called out, a little too loudly, when Peter started heading toward the living room. It felt like I had a chance to get some actual answers out of him, and I didn't want to squander the opportunity.

Peter nodded.

"Jasper told me that there were two places where he could trust that I would be safe." I paused long enough to swallow down my apprehension. "One of them was Volterra, and I don't understand why. He said that if the situation was different, he'd send me there."

Peter took his time getting himself settled with his work on the couch before he answered. "The Volturi are the most powerful coven in the world, but Jasper has many connections; you could not possibly fathom how far his influence spreads. They would do him that favor."

"But they're after me. That man in charge, Aro, Edward said he wanted me for the guard. I can't imagine being safe there from anything. How could I trust those kinds of people with my life? I can't wrap my head around it."

"If they want you, then they would keep you, no matter who opposed. You fall into the rare category of what the Volturi want, and what Jasper wants to keep safe. Sending you to Volterra would have worked very well, had they not been expecting something."

"And why you?" I asked.

This time Peter answered immediately. "Because even if someone thought to look here, they wouldn't get to you."

"I don't know what you mean," I confessed after far too long trying to figure it out.

"You should learn to accept that confusion is nothing more than another facet of life."

If he wasn't willing to explain, then he wasn't going to. That didn't mean I wasn't going to keep asking. "Is this about your gift? Is that why Jasper thought I'd be safe with you?"

"Jasper _knew_ you'd be safe with me."

"Why don't you ever answer the questions I ask?" Instead of irksome, the verbal sparring came off as fun, it was like a game.

"Why don't you ever ask the questions that will give you the information you need?"

I thought on that one for a while. Peter had a condescending and goading look to him, like he'd won some sort of race by figuring out what exactly it was that I wanted to know before I had. I tried again. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because you trust Jasper." Peter smirked, and I thought he must be teasing me.

"I'm not sure how applicable the transit of property is in this situation."

"You're sharper than most humans," Peter commented. His gaze was more assessing than anything else ― like he'd only just realized that there might be something about me that could interest him. "How unusual."

My immediate reaction was to be offended ― it usually was with Peter ― but I schooled my expression and forced down the outrage his comment brought out in me. He was baiting me, still playing games. I'd made more than one attempt to identify the armor Peter wrapped himself in, but I hadn't realized until now that his hard edges and words were the first line of defense. Even after all this time with only him for company, I still didn't have the faintest clue what kind of man he was. All I could say for certain about Peter was the surface ― the part he let me see ― and in this I finally found a part of him I could relate to.

I felt the beginnings of a grin cross my face. "You're very bothered by scrutiny, aren't you? That's why you play with my words and turn everything around. You'd rather the focus be on me."

"You do the same," Peter pointed out.

I angled my head to the right and tried to pull as much information from his expression as I could. Peter didn't give much away, but I hadn't been looking closely enough. "You always have to have the last word, huh?"

"It wouldn't bother you so much if you weren't the same way."

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe you could let me have this one."

The corner of his lip twitched. "All right."

I supposed Peter wasn't all that bad, despite that he was pushy and got far too much enjoyment out of twisting my brain into a pretzel. He was more than a little apathetic toward me, and I was still pretty sure that if he had the choice between me being here and being gone, he'd choose the latter ― but he had his moments of sincerity, of humor.

I stood and stretched my arms before heading toward the stairs for yet another night of tossing and turning.

"Bella?" Peter called. I turned my head to see a conflicted musing flutter over his features. "He wouldn't have actually taken you there. Jasper would never let the Volturi have you, no matter how dire the situation became. He wouldn't risk it."

I wanted to ask why, but that could only lead to more misdirection, and I'd had enough of roundabout conversations today. Besides, his small concession felt like he was offering a truce, and I was anxious to accept. Still, I had to wonder, "How could you know that?"

"Because I know him. To Jasper there is nothing more important than those he cares for." Peter paused, and then took a step closer, as if he were about to tell me a secret. "The last time I saw him before he brought you to my door ― and mind you, that wasn't all that long ago ― only Alice had garnered that respect. Don't take it for granted."

"What about you?" I asked before I could think not to.

Peter clenched his jaw, and I could pinpoint every step along the tumble he made back into that stoic and aloof man from when I first met him. "That's different."

I couldn't tell if he meant that in a bad way or not.


	8. Chapter 8

Before my eyes, summer gave way to the muted tones of fall. A whole month had passed, and I had nothing to show for it but an air-conditioner I'd fixed mostly by myself, and a surly vampire roommate who had taken to fighting me for the honor of who could come up with the most absurd story to tell the neighbors.

It started small. If he were anyone else, Peter would have let my little comment to Sheila go. Instead, he upped the ante and went around putting up flyers for a neighborhood tea social, offering me as hostess. I retaliated by signing him up to coach Little League.

Once again, that should have been it; Peter wasn't bothered by backing out of the commitments I'd made for him, and I easily sidestepped the social—making sure to blame Peter, for good measure. Unfortunately, Peter didn't share the opinion that we were even. A week later I had to tell all my new dog walking customers that Peter had been alternating between reading adoption brochures and radical medical trial papers again, and I couldn't possibly find the time to deal with him and take care of their pets. Then, Peter methodically informed every individual within two blocks that I'd started drinking because my American Idol audition had been rejected, and there was no way I could let that slide.

The next week I told Sheila that Peter had invested in some new-age mumbo jumbo and was now convinced that visualization was the key to success. With wide eyes and frantic hand-wringing I confessed that it had already taken a few weird turns, and then flat-out refused to elaborate. It worked rather brilliantly. The gossips were fascinated wondering what sort of crazy Peter had wound up in — which was the point — and we fell into that precious downtime between moves. That is, until four days later when Peter made a ridiculous show of measuring sections of the front lawn with a ruler while the rest of the neighborhood watched over dinner. I couldn't decide if it was more or less fun because he was playing along. At least the neighbors stopped bothering us so much. Nobody wanted to hang out with a drunk who didn't realize she couldn't sing and an obsessive-compulsive with baby-fever.

There was a significant advantage to living with someone I didn't want to spend much time with, and that was that it got me out into the world more than I was used to. Not that I would ever admit it. Peter didn't need confirmation of how well he had me pegged, or that his terrible behavior was good for me in a roundabout way. I didn't want him to know that these thoughts he caused to rise and bubble within me were things I'd been searching for.

Every day I discovered words or phrases that defined me—and in this I found the most irritating benefit of Peter's harsh truths: distractions. He kept me so focused on myself that I barely had time to think about Edward, and I wasn't ready for that sort of narrowed perspective. I wanted to sit around the house and mope for another few weeks, and Peter wouldn't let that happen. There wasn't time to hurt. He made the walls close in on me; the house too small. I didn't know if he did it on purpose or not.

* * *

My favorite place in this new wilderness was a weathered bench full of knots at the far end of a wide pond at the park. It was hot, but it was also sunny; fluffy, white clouds drifted through the sky and the wind rustling through the leaves made for calming background noise. The playground off to the side teemed with children, and the constant hum of laughter never failed to make me smile. This place was relaxing, and it was mine. There were no vampires or werewolves here; only the sun, the grass, and the breeze.

The first time I'd come here, I was nearly overwhelmed. Not because of the expansive space or throngs of people, but because there were so many options. The library sat on a corner, a sign proudly declared lakes and rivers for fishing up and to the right. I figured I should work up to that one; I knew that the moment the words had registered in my brain I was going to be fighting them back. Fishing. I could go fishing. Instead, I headed for the duck pond.

I told Peter I was going to the zoo, something he found particularly repellant. He knew I was lying, the same way I knew that he followed me—but he hid in the shade somewhere, barely a shadow in my peripheral, and it was easy to pretend he wasn't there. I couldn't have found him if I tried, and I didn't want to.

There was something soothing about sitting by the water and trying to break down Peter into something I could understand; if only because I was sure he'd been doing the same to me ever since I appeared on his doorstep. When I'd first met him he was quiet, rigid, and cautious. He still was, but as time wore on he started to show more. With Alice he'd been a little mocking, condescending, and now, with me, he was still different. He still mocked, but there was an undercurrent present ever since we left Nebraska. It felt like he was paying attention now; it was yet another curiosity I didn't understand.

The weather shifted and changed with the beginning of a new season. Suddenly, clouds hung low in the sky, blotting out the sun. A pleasant breeze could transform into a chill at any moment. I stayed in. I didn't want to make it easy for Peter to follow me. I'd have to reevaluate this priority soon, though. Peter and I had settled into something of a routine. We still argued, but there was less antagonism; less sincerity to his pointed comments. Confined to the house with nothing to do, every word and gesture became more intense.

It was me who was being overly aggressive, not Peter, and I knew it. It was easier to blame him for the restlessness clawing through my legs and living room walls closing in on me. By mid-afternoon the house was so stifling that I gave up on my show of force; I didn't care that it was cloudy or that a steady mist sprayed the windows.

Peter said nothing when I left. He was probably sick of me being in the house, too. Halfway down the block the mist turned into rain, and I kept right on going. The park was different without people everywhere. The sunshine made this place safe, gave it a comforting vibe. In the rain, everything was wrong.

Grey clouds raced across the sky. The rain that fell from them was cool and chased away the sticky mess of the summer heat. The falling water beat shallow waves into the surface of the pond; it was hypnotizing. A wiser person would have gone back to the house, but there was no lightning, no thunder. There was only me sitting alone on a park bench, staring at the ripples.

I thought about Emmett's emphatic and kind words to me before I left, and of Rosalie's quiet suggestions. I'd spent so long concentrating on what was here and the biggest pieces of what I'd left behind—Charlie and Edward—that I hadn't given due consideration to all the other people I'd loved and left in Forks. I added short-sightedness and tunnel-vision to the list of flaws I was keeping track of in my head.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Peter said. I turned my head to see him standing at the end of the bench, hands balled into fists in his pockets. I knew he'd follow me. Something about his stance was less confident than I'd gotten used to. He wasn't on his own turf anymore.

"I doubt it. A little rain never hurt anyone."

A moment passed. "You look troubled."

"What do you care?" I asked. His interest in my state was unnerving.

Peter took a seat next to me on the bench and stretched his legs out as far as he could. "I won't lie to you and say that I think all of your problems are valid in the face of what's happening, but if you need to talk about it, I'll listen."

I imagined the look on my face was quite comical. Peter offering a supportive ear was the last thing I expected to get from a rainy afternoon at the park. "Why?"

Peter shrugged. "Seems like you could use it. I'll even try not to comment."

The truth was that I did want to talk about it, very much; I just wasn't sure if I wanted Peter to be the one listening. I didn't know if I could deal with hearing his opinion of my behavior in the most defining moments of my life. Then again, maybe that was exactly what I needed. I took a breath—the taste of humidity thick—shored up my courage, and began.

"There was a fight, in July. A woman blamed me for her mate's death; or maybe she blamed Edward, I never could figure it out. It doesn't really matter, she wanted to kill me either way. She made all these vampires thinking she could destroy the Cullens and get to me." I needed a pause to sort out my thoughts. I hadn't ever had to explain this to anyone who wasn't there. Everyone I could talk to was already embroiled in my chaos.

"I'm guessing that didn't work out so well for her," Peter said once my silence had stretched too long for his liking.

"No. She didn't know about Jasper. He never told you any of this?"

"I heard bits and pieces: we're not the chat about our day types. Wish I could have been there. It would have been fun, though I don't think Jasper minded that I wasn't. He always has enjoyed playing with the odds. How many did he get?"

"I don't know," I admitted, shifting my gaze from the lake to Peter. I hadn't ever considered asking. "A lot. He got bitten."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"When it was over, there was this girl," I said. My voice sounded flat and apathetic, and it felt like a travesty that I couldn't inject enough feeling into the words to convey how this one event had eviscerated me. I looked back out toward the rain falling on the pond.

"She was so little, and she looked... I remember thinking that it was like looking in a mirror. She gave up. Surrendered. She didn't want to fight, and they killed her anyway."

"The Cullens?" Peter asked.

"The Volturi."

"Oh." He didn't sound surprised. Why would he be? That was what the Volturi did. They kept the secret; they ensured everyone played by the rules.

"And then..." I choked on the words. My throat burned and my head ached whenever I gave in and thought of this. "It was like she was never there. She was just... she was gone. I watched her die. It was like I was the only one who really saw it, Jasper was the only one who really felt it, and then the world kept going. Nothing changed."

Peter's fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the park bench. I paused, listening to the taps, and I desperately wished that he would have some brilliantly insightful perspective on the matter that would somehow make it all okay. He didn't. "The first one, that's always the hardest."

"I never want something like that to be easy."

"Is that why you left?" Peter asked, sounding interested in the answer. It was so strange, sitting out in the rain, having an actual conversation with Peter.

"Sort of," I answered. "That was… that was the beginning of why I left."

Peter stilled his fingers for a moment and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I did, but I didn't know what I wanted to say. Still, I felt I should give him something, because it didn't seem like the easiest offer for him to make. "I left because I'm not done yet. I'm not ready for the future that was waiting for me in Forks."

"You mean Edward?" Peter asked, and I could only nod. "You don't want what he does."

I wasn't sure where he'd gotten that from, but confusion didn't make it sting any less. "That's not true."

"It is. Edward will never change. Do you realize that?" He paused for a moment and continued with a stronger tone. "He may love you, but he wants you to live. He does not want to take what you are willing to give him. How could you ever be equals? He put you up so high he could never reach."

I'd always considered it to be the other way around. "We only wanted to be together. How was it not enough?"

Peter tilted his head away, a mock dismissal of my childish whining. "Why do you always ask such pointless questions?"

"Edward wants me as I am, and I don't want to be this person." Unbidden tears pricked at the corners of my vision and, with effort, I held them back. The last thing I wanted was for Peter to catch me crying. "What if I get myself to a place where I'm happy—where I can say I'm proud of myself—and he doesn't want me anymore?"

"Then I guess you'd just have to keep marching on."

Finally, I asked the one thing that I'd never allowed myself to think before. "What if I don't want him?"

"So, that's why you're here, instead of back home."

"I guess," I said, feeling detached from everything except the rippling water in front of us. "If I stayed, if I kept him close while trying to figure myself out…" I didn't have the slightest idea how to end that sentence. Peter kept silent, even when I'd stopped talking for nearly a minute. I chanced a look to see him staring out at the water, lost in some thought of his own. Finally, I said, "I left because I'm scared. Who I am now is not who I want to be forever, even if it is with Edward."

"Astute," Peter murmured.

"Confused," I corrected.

"Sometimes admitting you don't have all the answers, that's the smartest thing a person can do." He reminded me so much of Jasper in that moment, it was unnerving.

"And what answers are you looking for?" I wondered, even though I knew he would never tell me.

"More things I do not wish to talk about." Peter fell silent for far too long, and when he spoke again, I startled in my seat. "For the record, I understand why you did it. Why you left. I don't think it was wrong of you. I know it means little — we don't know each other — but I thought you might like to hear it."

We sat together, quiet, and though I had reservations about sharing this last part, I did it anyway. "I wish I could convince myself I want to forget it. All of it. It makes me feel like a horrible person; everyone deserves to be remembered, but I don't like carrying this with me."

To my surprise, Peter had nothing disparaging to say. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him press his lips together and nod. "Like I said, the first one is always the hardest. It never leaves you."

"Do you have scars?" I asked. "Like Jasper?"

Peter regarded me for a moment before answering. "Depends on what kind of scars you're talking about. Teeth marks ripped into my skin? I've got nothing on Jasper there."

"I have one," I confessed, running my fingers over my wrist. "It stings sometimes. The skin there is colder."

Peter nodded. "I noticed. From your joyride to Arizona with Jasper, right?"

"Joyride isn't exactly the word I'd use, but yeah. I used to imagine that when Edward changed me, he'd bite me here." My fingers ran along the bumps again. "That he'd erase that moment. He'd wash it away and leave a different mark. Pretty silly, huh?"

"You didn't want to keep the reminder," Peter said.

"No, I didn't. But I think I do now. I want to remember everything, good and bad."

"There will come a time where you won't have much of a choice," Peter said referring to my impending transformation from human into something I still didn't fully understand.

I needed a change of subject.

"What did you mean, when you said Jasper likes to play with the odds?" There was a churning feeling in my gut that insisted I didn't want to know, but I wasn't any good at listening to intuition when dealing with Peter's cryptic half-answers.

"You didn't figure it out?" he asked, and I shook my head. Peter scoffed and regained his abrasive edge. "You really thought you got away from him in Arizona because of your cunning?"

When he put it like that it sounded incredibly stupid. "He let me go, didn't he?"

"Of course he did."

I didn't know where to direct my sudden swell of hurt and anger — that hinged on my next question. "Why?"

Peter needed no time to gather his explanation. "I assume he knew you were determined, and he thought you had the right to do what you could to protect your mother; that if you went, it would end sooner. If it were me, and you were willing to use yourself as bait, then I would have let you—I can't see how Jasper would have thought any differently. The others were too blinded by their emotions to understand how helpful a distraction can be when every second counts, but Jasper—Jasper knows what it is to stand a fraction of a second away from death, from both sides of the equation. He let you go because he thought it best, for all involved."

"Do you think he knew I'd get hurt?"

"I think he believed it would be the catalyst Edward needed to change you."

It made sense, though I never would have recognized it until now. Jasper had always been on my side in this argument, in his own way.

"Do you believe in fate?" I wondered after a moment. I brushed my wet hair from my face and turned to watch him.

"No."

"How about soul-mates?" I prodded.

"No, not those either." Peter shook his head, whether as part of his answer, or irritation with me for asking such a question, I didn't know.

"Why not?"

"I believe in love, that sometimes there is a bond that spans between people that supersedes every other connection—but to have an other half, only one person in all existence that will compliment you… what a sad notion that is."

From what little I'd pieced together, Peter had met and lost the love of his life, and yet he seemed to still believed there might be someone else out there he could feel that way about. It was almost romantic. When I told him so, he chuckled.

"I have my moments."

The conversation lulled with the last remnants of sunshine hidden behind the clouds. I supposed Peter wasn't terrible company. I stood when the streetlights buzzed awake, and without a word we walked back the way we'd come. He'd given me a lot to think about, out in the rain, but still there were more questions. Peter was a puzzle, and one I never had enough pieces of to figure out.

There was no production. No glaring difference to this day from any other. I woke up tired for the fourth day in a row, and not five minutes after I emerged from my bedroom Peter walked in the front door, stared straight at me for an uncomfortably long beat, and then took a seat on the sofa. He had to have planned it.

This was a first for us: I'd never bore witness to the immediate aftermath of what sort of vampire Peter was before, and it bothered me less than I would have liked. Apparently, it was only once I'd learned names and faces that a chill set through me. It was only when I stared them in the face that I had to look away. I was such a hypocrite.

"Did you — never mind." I almost asked if he'd gone for a stroll through a neighboring suburb, but thought better of it. After getting to know Peter a little — the paltry amount he let me, anyway — there were few things I could say for certain. One of them was that above all else, Peter was careful. He was precise, and everything he did had a method and reason behind it. After figuring that out, I couldn't believe that an hour earlier he'd been prowling the streets and killing at random. Nothing Peter did was ever random, and maybe that was significant in more ways than I realized.

He stared at me a moment, waiting for a reaction, but I didn't have one for him. Instead, I made for the kitchen to pour myself some coffee.

"Did you sleep?" Peter vocalizing concern for my well-being was strange. I hadn't realized he cared.

"Not really." Peter kept staring from his seat in the living room, and I didn't have it in me to unravel his intentions today. "What? No commentary?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, that speculative look hanging all over his face. "I'm not really running on assumptions anymore."

"I hate it when you stay stuff like that." I scowled and headed toward the deck with my coffee. "There's never any way to respond."

* * *

It was one of the quieter days; the kind where neither of us talked much, lost in our own thoughts. I went walking around the neighborhood for a bit, but wound up right where I started, thumbing through a book I'd read a hundred times, itching in my skin.

Peter stood, picked up his computer, and came to sit next to me on the couch. He handed his laptop to me and pointed to the screen once I had it settled on my thighs. "You need to go through the security camera footage from these transactions, looking for this man." He tapped a mug shot taped to the right side of the screen.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you would be quiet and listen, you'd find out."

I shut my mouth and glared at the computer.

"I already know he was in the area this video is from, what I need to do now is figure out where he went. If he's using a credit card or cash, what kind of car he's driving."

"Couldn't you — I don't know — sniff him out?"

Peter looked at me like I was a particularly special brand of stupid and insane. "That would be like trying to figure out how each cow in a herd smelled and then tracking it through a sewer."

A smile fought for control with a frown. His analogy was kind of funny. "Did you just call me a cow?"

"If it makes you feel better, he'd be what I assume a McDonald's burger is like." Peter nodded to the screen, far too amused with this comparison. He flashed me a grin full of teeth. "I'm guessing you'd be Wagyu beef."

"I can't figure out if I'm insulted or flattered." It didn't matter which; they were sort of the same thing with Peter.

"I'll pay you for this." Peter offered, gesturing at the computer.

This time I grinned. "Are you offering me a job?"

"If you want it."

My amusement died out a little. "You don't need to hire someone to do this for you."

"No," Peter agreed, "but if you find it half as tedious as I do, maybe you will finally get some sleep."

Peter had a way of making me feel uncomfortable with kind gestures veiled in sarcasm and insults. I needed to change the subject. "Why do you work at all? You couldn't possibly need to with your stellar real estate strategy."

Peter shrugged. "What else am I going to do? I like to work."

I pressed a few keys experimentally, still unsure. "I don't know how I feel about doing this; helping you hunt your target."

"Would you feel better if you knew what this man has done? I'll tell you, but keep in mind that you have enough trouble with nightmares as it is."

It felt like he was baiting me, and an irrational need to prove myself to him came flaring up. If I had learned anything from our brief interaction this morning, it was that while I'd managed to remove the majority of my delusions of the vampire world, I was still holding on to nearly all of my human ones. I still wasn't seeing things clearly, not if I could watch Peter saunter into the house after killing someone and be okay with it when something far more understandable had been the catalyst for leaving Edward.

"Tell me."

I immediately wished I'd kept my mouth shut. To his credit, Peter took no pleasure from relaying the chain of events that led to this man's picture taped to his laptop screen. It was a sick tale, and by the time he finished I felt nauseated. I could feel myself toeing at the line I'd drawn for myself, considering if I would cheer or grieve if Peter did to him what I assumed he would.

"What happens when you catch him?" I asked. If Peter was going to kill him, I didn't think I'd be able to help. No matter that I thought he deserved it—I'd seen his face. If I helped Peter kill him, he'd haunt me forever.

Peter seemed to understand this. "He's a bail jumper, Bella. When I find him, he'll go back to the police."

"I didn't get the impression you were very selective about the cases you took on," I said, still waffling. Always waffling.

"I'm not." Peter agreed. "But I wouldn't ask you to help with something that I knew went against your moral fiber. I'm not that horrible of a person, you know."

"Do you blame me for being skeptical? I don't know what kind of man you are, and you're not very forthcoming."

Peter stared at the wall across the room, thinking. I started tabbing through the videos on the computer as I waited for him to decide what to say.

"What do you want to know?"

"I've already asked most of the things I'm curious about. You just don't want to answer."

The cushions shifted under his weight. He picked the least personal topic. "I don't know why Alice can't see me. She's never been able to, and I've never cared why that is. It's not important."

"So, it's not your gift then?" I asked, and Peter shook his head.

"It's not anything that I'm doing. I'm a blind-spot for her; contrary to what she's probably led you to believe, she does have some."

"Do you think it's the same with me? With Edward and Aro not being able to hear my thoughts?"

Peter leaned back against the couch cushions, seemingly more at ease now that the topic had shifted away from his own quirk and onto mine. "I'm inclined to believe that no, it's not the same. With me, it's this one thing. For you, it's a multitude. Even if it were only Edward and Aro, I'd have suspicions. Add in Jane and there's too much evidence for it to be a coincidence. There's a common denominator. You don't let outsiders get into your head, and that means there is something else at play."

"Like what?" I asked, angling my body toward him without realizing, the computer temporarily forgotten in favor of this more interesting conversation.

"I don't know. There's no way to tell, not until you're changed." Peter tilted and turned his head to get a better look at me. Not that he needed it. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he wasn't human. As long as I avoided looking him in the eye, that is. "Does that bother you? Not having a concrete answer?"

"A little." Peter quirked a skeptical brow at me. "Okay, a lot. I just want to know what's going on. I want an explanation, and I want to understand it."

"These are things you can worry about later. A potential gift that may or may not manifest — why do you waste your energy on it? Nothing you can do now will change what happens."

I began clicking through the videos on the computer again to give myself some distance from Peter's far too insightful question. "It feels like it's important."

True to his nature, Peter closed the conversation with something neither helpful nor soothing. "Maybe it is, but there's only one way to find out." And with that, he left me with his laptop and my chaotic thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

I liked September in Kansas a lot more than I'd liked August, mostly because by the time the first of the month rolled around, Charlie and I started having proper conversations again instead of mindless updates once a week. I hadn't considered how much I would miss him, but without the guise of endless time to figure out how we fit into each other's lives, we talked easier, and in that perverse way our situation was kind of wonderful. I didn't know how I'd ever convinced myself that it would be easy to leave him for good.

Charlie hadn't asked when I was coming back, and for that I was grateful. At least there was someone in my life who didn't persistently ask me questions they knew I couldn't answer ― but then Charlie mentioned that my birthday was coming up, and I realized that I hadn't spelled it out for him. I hadn't told him how far from ready I was to come home.

It wasn't strictly accurate, but the only thing I could think to say was, "I got a job."

"Bella…" Charlie sighed, disappointed.

I wanted to take it back, to tell him I was just kidding and would be home soon ― but I was trying to be more honest with the few people still in my life, especially Charlie. "I know. I just… didn't want you to have the wrong idea."

I heard Charlie exhale over the receiver. When he next spoke, he sounded calculated, strong. "Let's not do this. We both know I couldn't keep you here, and I can't make you come back. Here's the new deal: you come home before you do something stupid. Okay? No time limits. I get that being away has been good for you, so let's not put an expiration date on it. But the moment you start thinking of crossing an international border or running off to Vegas with some guy you just met… instead, you come home."

"I can do that."

Charlie sighed. "You really should call your mother more often, you know. She's starting to nag."

I groaned, but couldn't argue. I'd spoken with Renee a few times, but not nearly as much as I did with Charlie. There wasn't much to say to her, she'd had far fewer concerns, and in her own way she understood what I was hoping to accomplish far better than Charlie did. "Okay, I'll call her. I love you." The sentiment was inadequate, but it would have to do. We never said it enough.

"You, too, Bells."

* * *

Sometimes, Peter and I talked. More accurately, sometimes I talked, and Peter listened. Now and then Peter ran his mouth, but he seldom had anything substantial to say, and never more than he had in the park the day I told him about Bree.

When Peter talked, he roped off any chance for dialogue between us. There were days he compulsively had to point out each and every single thing about me he found confusing or annoying. Others, he started meaningless conversations about the most ridiculously complex things; I couldn't hope to follow. He was brash and unforgiving, but I never had to worry about what Peter thought of me, because he had no problem speaking his mind. Though I didn't want to admit it, I liked him for that. Walking on eggshells was exhausting, and I didn't miss it one bit.

The streets and highways around town were becoming familiar. I subscribed to the local paper. Peter asked why, but I never told him it was because I was looking for roller-coasters. This place was beginning to feel like it could have been home if my life had taken a different turn. The bitterness seeping in my veins started to evaporate.

My departing anger and depression left a void in their wake; the hollows that remained were intense and overbearing with nothing and no one to fill them. My mood rapidly changed direction at random. Over my morning coffee, Peter's one-sided discourse on the proper way to harvest the beans was hilarious — over dinner, I wanted to stab him with my fork when he wouldn't shut up about ripping out the kitchen for more storage space.

Calls to Charlie became more frequent, desperate trips to town increased. Twice, I sped down the highway in Peter's car without a clue where I was going. I was free now, but I still felt trapped. The nightmares were getting worse. Some were so bad that Peter had to have mercy and come wake me. Those nights were always the hardest and often ended with sitting on the couch watching hours of video surveillance.

My favorite books, the ones I couldn't bear to leave behind, lost their appeal. They gathered dust in my bedroom, a perpetual reminder that their primary use over the past year had been to disguise the prison I locked myself in. Those were books I loved when I was with Edward — romances I used to justify my doubts and reinforce my stubbornness. I had little desire left to sit inside and read: I hungered for more.

Deep in what was generously referred to as downtown Andover, I sated my ravenous appetite at a hole-in-the-wall craft shop. Peter had challenged me to try on hobbies like clothes, and I saw no reason not to take him up on it.

The art supplies smuggled into the house went unwitnessed, despite screaming that I was home with Peter's therapy supplies from the front lawn. I grinned and waved at a too-curious brunette watching from across the street.

I took over the second bedroom on the main floor; it wasn't like Peter actually needed all of these rooms, anyway. The only thing he ever needed the bedrooms for was his clothes, and he kept his things in the one downstairs.

Dumping the contents of the bags all over the desk against the wall was strangely satisfying, and I flipped through the blank pages of the tablet I'd bought while taking inventory. The paper was thick, rough: I didn't know where to start, or what I was doing. My eyes dropped to the scattered pencils and paints, and I realized that half the shades I'd purchased were some form of green or brown. I ripped the case of pencils open, and I drew Forks. Charlie's house, the forest and mountains; a scene of a van careening around the corner of a parking lot, and the way the forest floor had looked when I laid on it for hours. The pictures were small, sloppy, but they took with them some deep-rooted anxiety I hadn't ever acknowledged before.

Eventually, the desperation lulled into something more manageable. I drew endless leaves and twigs, the memory of how they'd felt dug into my cheek and scratched my arms all too fresh. It wasn't enough to expel that moment, so once I finished putting it to paper; I ripped open another set of tools and put the day that saw my heart ripped from my chest to canvas.

Painting wasn't something I expected to enjoy. I only attempted because Renee had gotten it into my head over the years—it made me miss her more than I ever had before. I wondered if Renee would enjoy talking about her paintings; I didn't think I would. Charlie was right, though: I should call my mother more often.

A knock sounded from the door before it swung open, revealing Peter.

"Hey there." I didn't really know what else to say to my vampire roommate who spent his free time working as a bounty-hunter and had somehow sucked me into the trade while simultaneously making me question just about every single event and reaction that had caused me to wind up in Kansas. Trying to define Peter's role in my life gave me a headache.

Peter made a show of scanning the room. "What is this? You've been in here for hours."

A month ago I would have pegged his expression as merely amused. Now, I knew there was some curiosity in there as well. Closer inspection showed his eyes were darkening again. Soon he'd be prowling through the streets, hunting down some unsuspecting victim. I wondered how he chose, what his process was; if somewhere in the stack of manila folders he kept in his desk there was a section for people who never made it back to who was looking for them. I didn't think Peter tried to inject any morality into his selection process, but I did know that he had one. I was starting to get a little obsessed with figuring it out.

"I've decided that I should be an artist."

Peter laughed. The rumbling was deep, the grin on his face contagious. "You're going to paint?"

"Yes. Then maybe something else; photography? I could take pictures." I wished I hadn't left my camera behind in Forks.

Peter shook his head. "As long as you don't try to build a kiln in the backyard."

"Don't be silly." I scoffed. "I'd just make you build it."

"As if I would," Peter countered, but he had a challenging smile on his face. I wondered if I could have talked him into it if I tried. Probably not.

Peter surveyed the room, walking around and looking over all the papers scattered on the desk before his fingers reached out to brush along the side of the canvas still propped on an easel against the wall. It was the view of the forest after I'd given up chasing after Edward. I didn't like him looking at that one; he would see it for exactly what it was. "This one is actually really good."

"Are you trying to tell me the rest of them are terrible?" I asked, trying to get him to focus on something other than the splatters of brown and black painted across that canvas along with the vast majority of what hurt inside me. It didn't work, and I inched my way between Peter and the canvas as subtly as possible.

"No," Peter answered, distracted. "They're all good, but this one…" he narrowed his eyes and ran his hand up from the side to rest on the top. "I don't know what it is about it."

"Do you know how to play blackjack?" I asked in one last desperate bid to make him focus on _anything_ else. The absurd and random question finally snapped his attention back to me. He stepped away from the easel, and I immediately placed myself in front of it. I'd hide it in the back of my closet so he could never look at it again; or maybe drown it in the pond so I wouldn't have to either.

Peter gave me an odd look and nodded his head; of course he knew how.

"Will you teach me sometime?"

"You want me to teach you to play blackjack?" Peter asked, visibly confused by my request. I'd never managed to make a vampire show such clear and unintentional emotion before, and here I'd just done it twice in the last ten minutes.

"I do."

Peter tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because I made a promise." He didn't need to know any more than that.

"You promised to take up gambling?"

I felt the beginnings of a grin cross my face. "In a way."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what other sorts of crazy things you've agreed to."

I wiped my hands on the towel draped over the back of the desk chair and felt my slow grin spread further. "Really? Because I think you're going to get a kick out of this next one."

I'd searched for nearly a week everywhere I could think of before stumbling on the announcement of a fair at the local high school. It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but it would do. The sun had set enough that we could pull this off. Peter in public was pretty amusing on a normal day, Peter in a crowd of screaming children and rigged carnival games was too good a chance to pass up.

He followed me through the house with a skeptical look on his face. When I grabbed the keys from the table, he'd had enough.

"Where are we going?" Peter asked. He was curious enough to follow me outside, though.

"You'll see." I almost couldn't believe he got into the car without protest or demanding a fuller explanation — or wanting to drive.

He didn't realize where we were going until I flipped the turn signal and pulled into the parking lot of the high school. There were already a ton of people milling around.

"You must be joking." Peter crossed his arms and scowled.

"Oh, come on. Maybe it'll be fun." I cut the engine and stepped out of the car. When I heard his door open, I figured I was in the clear and headed toward the entrance.

We wandered through the fairground, no immediate destination in mind. I bought cotton candy and drank in the scenery while I tried to work up my resolve to tackle the scariest ride I could find.

There were kids all over the place, running wild, screaming and laughing as they raced between booths and rides. Peter seemed downright appalled to be in such a place, but what I was more focused on were the parents wandering after their children with loving smiles plastered across their faces. I wondered I was defective; damaged in the way that I didn't feel the need for that to ever be me. Everyone else seemed to think so.

As if he sensed my mood shift, Peter knocked his shoulder into mine to get my attention and wrinkled his nose in distaste for the atmosphere. It pulled me from my funk in an instant. "What are we doing here?"

"We're going to ride a roller-coaster," I said, trying my best to inject as much confidence as I could into my words. He already thought I was crazy. I'd given up on trying to convince him otherwise.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but there _isn't_ a roller-coaster here. This isn't Six Flags, it's Andover High's incredibly tacky fall carnival."

"It's a fair," I corrected, gloating a little for knowing there was a difference. "And we'll just have to make do with what we've got." I nodded toward a particularly threatening assembly of spinning, twisting metal to our right, hoping I sounded less terrified of it than I was. Its hinges were squeaking—that couldn't be right.

Peter looked from me to the massive blob of pink cotton candy in my hand, and then to the ride I'd pointed out. "Fine, but I'm not sitting next to you."

"Fine," I agreed. The sight of that thing was already making my stomach churn. I'd have to make sure Peter had a seat in front of me so he couldn't watch the debacle.

I made it through ten seconds on the ride, and after that it was a battle of will to keep from proving Peter right about what a terrible idea cotton candy before a spinning death-trap was. Peter was two rows ahead of me, and I focused all the attention I was able on glaring at him. I was going to kill Emmett for putting this idea in my head. The moment the restraints loosened, I bolted from the platform.

"You were right, this is fun," Peter snickered. He, of course, was completely unfazed. "Uh-oh, you don't look so good."

My knees knocked together as I tried with all my might to stand straight, but it was only seconds later that the bubbling in my stomach turned into full-on revolt, and I lurched toward the nearest trash bin. Peter laughed the entire time he held my hair back.

After the worst of it was over, I felt the need to defend myself. "Shut up. We can't all have your sense of equilibrium."

"We can't all have your stunning sense of food and entertainment, either," Peter shot back as he twisted my hair over my shoulder and wandered off, only to reappear a couple minutes later with a bottle of water.

"Thanks."

"You have an audience."

My head shot up to see Peter nod toward Sheila and her husband gaping at us, two kids running circles around their legs.

Peter chuckled and made a motion meant to indicate I'd been drinking. Without thinking, I backhanded him in the stomach; another mistake. I clenched my teeth and glared at him.

"You should learn to contain these violent outbursts of yours," Peter said, a little too loud. His expression turned so earnestly concerned that I almost laughed at him before I remembered that he was, without a doubt, trying to embarrass me. "You're hurting the people who care about you."

"Stop twelve-stepping me in front of that whacko," I hissed.

"But I want to see if I can get her to stage an intervention for you." To Peter, this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"You know, she told me she lost her babysitter. Maybe I should see if we can take her kids one night? Might be good for you."

"You wouldn't," Peter said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out if I was angry enough to do exactly that.

I smiled. "Or we could set up a daycare. All the kids could call you Uncle Petey."

Peter frowned. "What are your demands for a cease-fire?" Apparently, he _really_ didn't like children. I didn't like them much either, but I wasn't going to let him know that.

I could have asked any number of extravagant or embarrassing things of him. Instead, I stood on the tips of my toes and whispered in his ear, "You owe me a darkroom for this one."

His lip curved, and he tilted his head in close. "Deal."

Peter slipped an arm around my waist and tugged me next to him to keep walking. I couldn't quite keep the horror from my expression. He laughed and leaned to whisper in my ear, much like I'd just done to him. "Play along, _dear_. We don't want everyone to think we hate each other. Besides, as much as I'd like to see you try to walk straight after that fiasco, I doubt you'd appreciate face-planting in the dirt."

"I don't hate you," I grumbled. "But I am very irritated with you right now."

"This is why they all assumed we were married." Peter chuckled. "The woman at the end of the block, the one who's always hanging around that one," he nodded his head toward Sheila, "she's convinced herself we had some grand affair and ran off together. Apparently, that's the kind of chemistry we have, she's sure of it."

"We should have just told everyone we're cousins or something."

The notion was ridiculous, but while I started laughing, Peter wrinkled his nose in disgust. He muttered, "Yeah, because that would be any better."

"What else do they say about us?" I wondered.

Peter laughed and steered me back toward the parking lot, "Not much we didn't bring on ourselves."

* * *

The morning of my birthday went by without incident: there were no over-the-top gifts, nor vampires trying to kill me. For the first time in two years I didn't define my age in relation to Edward's. It was simple; I was nineteen. It felt hollow.

It wasn't until the day was nearly over that things got interesting. Peter dragged me from the backyard to sit at the kitchen table, a deck of cards in his hand.

"Now, the thing about blackjack," Peter said, shuffling the cards, "is that it's not only about what your cards are. The dealer's cards are just as important. It's also kind of stupid to play with just the two of us, but since we've successfully alienated every single person within ten miles who might have agreed to join us, we're kind of stuck." Peter grinned, proud of himself for being so thorough.

"I want to get to twenty-one, right?"

"Correct," Peter said. He dealt the cards and pointed at my hand. "There's no way to skew the odds in your favor unless you count the cards, which people get pissy over. All you can focus on is making the correct decisions regarding when to hit or stand. As the dealer I have to hit if I have sixteen or lower and stand at seventeen or above."

That was just the beginning. Peter went on for nearly an hour explaining all the rules and conditions of the game. I had no idea why Emmett wanted me to learn how to play this, or why Peter was so into his increasingly long monologue over the intricacies of the double down.

"You are too excited about this," I noted.

"I never get to play. I'm flagged in all the good casinos." Peter frowned. "Even lame, two-person blackjack is better than nothing."

"Oh, you poor thing," I cooed sarcastically. "You've got such big problems."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Hit or stand?"

I guessed. "Hit."

"Wrong," Peter said, dealing me a jack. "I have a two showing. You should stand and hope I bust. Like you just did."

"Stop dealing from the bottom!" I snapped. Peter just grinned and kept going. "Cheater."

"I thought we'd already established that."

"So," I said, nervous for the topic I preparing to breach. "What changed?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, eyes narrowed and syllables drawn out—trying to figure out the answer before I told him.

"You and I… we didn't really get on that well in the beginning, right? I know I didn't imagine all that hostility. What changed? What's different now?"

"I told you already, I'm not running on assumptions anymore." Peter shrugged, but I could tell there was more to it.

"And just what horrible things did you assume about me?"

He stared me down for nearly a minute before answering, "I think, that in the beginning, I was a little unfair to you."

"No kidding, but you still haven't told me why."

"Because I thought I knew you through prior experience. I thought you were weak, fickle, and a bit cruel. Now I see that it's not so simple. You're a sharp little thing, and you're strong in a way I didn't consider valuable, before."

Coming from Peter, that was downright sweet.

"So, this is a truce, then?"

"Guess so," Peter said, shuffling the cards. I was sure he was stacking the deck.

I shook my head and let him keep dealing from the bottom, counting the cards, and berating me for my terrible blackjack strategy, or lack thereof, as the case turned out to be. He finally called it a night once it became too difficult to keep my eyes open, and I left him in the kitchen for the relative peace of my bedroom.

Everything should have been just as I left it, but something was different. It took a moment to identify the small, unwrapped and unmarked box sitting on my dresser. I opened it to find fancy looking camera, and tipped it from the box into my hand to see a note taped to the bottom. _Since you extorted a darkroom out of me, anyway._

It was just the type of thing Charlie would have done, a small, understated gift given privately without any need for a show. We never did much, but we always did something, and the occasion was a painful reminder that there was half a country between us. I wondered if Charlie thought I would have come home by now, or if he thought I should be away at school, celebrating the last of my teenage years. I had to think of a way to tell Charlie that I was going to miss Thanksgiving. That I probably wouldn't be home for Christmas. I couldn't face the reality that going home to him meant leaving him again, for good.


	10. Chapter 10

My favorite thing about Kansas was that I could feel the seasons changing. In Phoenix it was perpetual summer; in Forks the temperature fluctuated, but the atmosphere was wet and foggy no matter what time of year it was. The leaves fell from the trees, just like they had in Washington, but it felt different. I considered many times over the passing weeks that maybe it only seemed that way because I was different; Peter said I was looking for meaning in dark corners again.

The truce made the night of my birthday wasn't without its benefits. It was nice to relax instead of coming up with ways to exact revenge on Peter for little lies spread ― not that any of mine were very creative ― and this was another shift tangible in the air. Peter and I were finally on the same side. Or, at the least, on the same page. He maintained his edge, but it was clear he was making an effort, and whenever he said something particularly cutting, I had to remind myself that he had rarely ever meant to purposefully wound me. Sometimes, all Peter wanted was a reaction. Jasper was probably the only person on the planet capable of maintaining any sort of relationship with him.

I moved on from painting now that I had a camera again — scraping all those pieces of my battered soul onto canvas was something I couldn't do for long. It was like reliving all those horrible moments ― the mirrors, the woods ― and then hanging them out for everyone to see. Those were the canvases that invariably caught Peter's eye and subsequently wound up hidden in the back of my closet. The camera was more comfortable ― safer ― photos could only capture the now, and I was sick of looking at the past. I spent most of October snapping pictures, relishing the click of the shutter and learning the finicky, precise method of developing the images. I learned to accept and take comfort in Peter hidden out in the trees somewhere, and I felt less alone than I had since living in Arizona.

As my hobbies changed, so did our routines. I convinced Peter to get a television and then subjected him to the most sappy, romantic movies I could find. He, in turn, insisted on teaching me every card game he could think of and never let me win.

True to the shaky understanding we'd come to, we stopped spreading gossip about each other, and once the dust settled, I found that Sheila and her friends weren't all that bad. Interactions with them were short and superficial, but there was something fun about their weekly book club meetings where no one pretended they would bother reading the book—choosing instead to use the time as an excuse for mimosas and scones. Sheila badgered me into attending twice, but I wasn't bothered with being a pariah, and it was impossible to forge any lasting friendships here, anyway. It was nice to have acquaintances, though: people to say hello to at the park or stop and chat with at the grocery store.

I continually broadened my perimeter, seeking to accomplish all Emmett and Rosalie had said I should do during my time away, and then some. It almost felt like I was in a frenzy, trying to accomplish all I possibly could before my time was up.

Acclimatization brought many benefits, but there was a significant drawback as well. The more comfortable I became, the more desensitized to Peter's method of distraction I was ― whether it was intentional or not ― and as it became easier to ignore him the loneliness began to creep back in. I hadn't realized it when Peter and I agreed to be more civil, but in some ways those little pranks kept me afloat. Without Peter to fight against, there was one less thing in between me and the reality of my situation.

Thinking of Edward became easier when I let myself. I didn't miss him any less than I did when I left, but the tenor was changing. It differed from the last time we separated. Then, I had missed him like he'd left with all my best parts; now, it was more of a lingering ache. Instead of something missing, the memory of Edward was something I carried with me. Most of the time, when things got hard, I could think back on what we'd had with a calm fondness.

I took a walk through the park, snapping pictures of the leaves and feeling a little weird because I deep down, I felt all right. Maybe enough time had passed that all the thoughts swirling around my head had settled down. I supposed it didn't really matter why. I could agonize over every tiny thing until it drove me crazy, but it wouldn't change anything.

There wasn't anything I could do but take charge of the inevitable. I had to start thinking about what came next.

* * *

I'd lost count of the number of times I came stumbling through the front door, feeling like some poor imitation of Alice with too many bags hanging from my wrists. I couldn't be bothered to care on this particular occasion. This would be fun. I would make it fun if it killed me.

Peter, as usual, watched with crossed arms and a detached irritation as I struggled to get everything onto the table. He was sure to be annoyed, once he realized what I was doing, so it was with great relish that I tore into the first bag and started sorting out decorations and props.

Peter took one look at the bags of fake cobwebs in my hand, glanced at the plastic skeleton on the table, and then turned to me. "No."

It wasn't the kind of no that really meant no, it was more of an 'are you kidding me? Please don't.' Apparently, I'd gotten pretty good at reading Peter, too. "Yes."

"Absolutely not. Veto."

"You don't get to veto." I laughed. Halloween had suddenly become ten times more appealing now that I knew Peter wanted nothing to do with it.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes traveling over the decorations littered all over the living room once more.

"It's fun." I tried to say in the same way he did whenever he had to explain something he thought should be obvious; like I was talking to a five-year-old. "We'll get to see all the kids dressed up, and when their parents tell them to take one piece of candy, we'll sneak them more."

Peter was not convinced. I didn't really care. This may have been Peter's house, but I hadn't gotten to do anything fun for Halloween in ages ― not since I lived with Renee ― and I was going to decorate and give those kids enough candy to make their parents furious whether he liked it or not.

"Oh, don't act like you'll have to do anything," I said. "Just brood in the corner like you always do, it'll be over before you know it."

"Like you're one to talk about brooding." Peter grabbed the skeleton and headed out the front door. I followed, in case he tried to throw it away instead of hanging it up. I found him glaring up at the porch light, the skeleton dangling beneath, casting wriggling shadows. "There isn't even a word for how stupid this looks."

"You say that now, but just wait until you see what else I got."

Peter wasn't impressed, and I figured that was the end of it. I went to bed knowing that if Peter didn't want to get involved, there wasn't anything I could do to change his mind. At least, that's what I thought until I woke up the next morning to find him examining what I could only hope was a jug full of stage blood, the glass inches from his narrowed eyes.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

"Okay," Peter said, practically exploding with sarcasm. "It's not what it looks like."

"Really?" I asked. It was far too early to deal with something like this. "You don't have any control over your compulsion to have the last word and outdo everyone, do you?"

"That's what compulsion _means_. Besides, you said this would be fun." I did not like the smile on his face one bit. He was up to something, and I was sure once I'd had five minutes to wake up and have breakfast I'd figure out what it was.

"I thought you didn't like kids?"

Peter smirked. "I don't."

"So basically, you're just going to scare the crap out of them to amuse yourself?" Nuts, that actually sounded kind of fun. There had to be some way to get him to dial it back a bit, though. "This is too much. Even for you."

"There are worse things I could be doing." Peter shrugged and unscrewed the top of a spray bottle before pouring a measure of the red liquid inside.

"I don't even want to know."

I headed outside to finish getting ready for the trick or treaters, knowing that whatever I did today, he would probably either add to or undo as soon as the sun fell. This was the downside to shorter days ― Peter had more time out in the open. I shuddered to think of what he could accomplish in one night if he put his mind to it. With my luck, I'd wake up tomorrow morning to find he'd converted our entire lot into some sort of demented haunted house.

Of course, Peter was one step ahead of me. I opened the front door to find that he'd already turned the lawn into a graveyard, complete with tombstones and an entirely too realistic mannequin laying on the slab in front of a guillotine.

"Nice, right?" Peter asked, coming to stand next to me, just inside the doorway.

I sighed. "You filled that thing with blood, didn't you?"

"Isn't the point of this to scare people?" Peter asked. "I'm pretty sure blood gushing out of a severed head is considered scary."

"Fine," I agreed, turning to go back into the house. I may have slammed the front door with a little more force than necessary. I absolutely did not want to know where he found a guillotine in the middle of the night. This was too over the top, but I didn't have it in me to wage an argument that I didn't have a chance of win. The best I could hope for was some sort of compromise. "But you can't use it around the young kids."

"Define 'young,'" Peter demanded, hot on my heels. I rolled my eyes.

"None under ten. Twelve. Really, can't we just not use it at all? At least take the _body_ off it. Splatter the blood on the blade or something. We can't have beheadings on the front lawn!"

"Isn't this one of those things they're going to learn about, eventually?" Peter asked.

"I hope not!" He was insane.

"If I'm letting you do the whole stupid Halloween thing, then I at least get to have some fun with it." Peter shot me a menacing grin full of teeth. "Oh, calm down. I'll behave."

"Define 'behave,'" I countered.

Peter stared at me for a moment before taking a few steps closer and lowering his voice. "I thought the point of this was for you to have the chance to go all out and make the most of this ridiculous holiday. Why aren't you letting yourself enjoy it? It can still be fun, even if you don't have total control over every little part of it."

One of these days I would win a staring match with Peter if it killed me: this was not that day. I shrugged on my jacket and grabbed Peter's keys from the table. "I will not be helping you clean this up."

* * *

Peter would never admit it, but he was having fun.

We had a system. Peter sat on the porch all night, doing an excellent job of looking terrifying. When the kids got too close, he'd let the blade of the guillotine fall and send them scampering off to their parents. I grinned with every irritated look accompanying too many pieces of candy dropped in children's baskets, and with every neighbor's horrified glare, Peter pointed at me like the scene he'd constructed on our lawn was all my idea. This was nothing like it was with Renee. I'd never seen so many children in my life; they came in endless swarms. I had a grin breaking my face in two all night.

The experience was obviously new for Peter. How long it would be before I didn't know how to celebrate holidays anymore, either. A decade? Two? It was yet another countdown.

I sat sideways and cross-legged, with my back against the arm of the sofa and my feet tucked under me. My head drooped against the cushions, trying to hold on to the last bits of exhilaration and happiness still swirling in the air.

Peter set the bowl of candy in my lap and sat across from me. "We both know you bought too much on purpose."

I shrugged and picked a piece of chocolate from the bowl before moving it to the floor. "Did you have anything resembling a good time?"

"It was alright," Peter said. "Would have been better if you'd let me behead the mannequin, though."

"With our luck we'd have gotten the cops called on us."

Peter chuckled. "Now _that_ would have been a good time."

"I can't believe we had any kids come by after you terrified that first round." I tried to stop myself from laughing, but couldn't. Peter had been right: scaring the crap out of the neighborhood kids was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen in my life.

"Fine," Peter said. "I went a little overboard. It's not like I know how to do this kind of shit. This isn't going to become a regular thing, just so we're clear. I won't be helping you with Thanksgiving dinner next month."

"Only because there's no way to warp Thanksgiving into something that you'll find entertaining."

Peter shrugged. He knew it was true.

This was a good time to start asking Peter questions: he was in a decent mood; he was relaxed; and he hadn't gotten nearly enough chances to make fun of me today. It was a trifecta ― the perfect opportunity to get information out of him. I counted to twenty in my head, steadied my resolve, and asked, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Peter was instantly suspicious. "Depends on what it is."

I shrugged. Peter crossed his arms and waited for me to explain. "It's just that I think it's getting to be time to ask some questions, about what life will be like… after…"

Peter nodded, he didn't need any clarification. "It'll be hell for a long time. It'll also be worth it in the end."

I pushed aside the way his blunt explanation jarred me. "How could you know something like that?"

Peter took a fantastically aimed stab in the dark — he must have been waiting for this conversation. "Because you'll know that no matter what the circumstances are, you did it for your father. You'll know he's safe. You're the kind of person that's enough for." Peter looked me in the eye and asked, "That is the question we were heading toward, right?"

"Probably." It was still unsettling how easily Peter could trace the likely path of any conversation and cut it short. In some cases, like this one, I needed the push and pull of discussion to dig out the questions I needed answers to, and I resented his attempt to short-change me. "I guess I was also wondering about some other aspects, too."

"Like what?"

I sighed and leaned forward, elbows to my knees. I wanted to observe him when he answered. Peter was excellent at misdirection, but as far as I knew he didn't care for outright lying. "You used to work with newborns, right? Back when you met Jasper?"

Peter's shoulders tensed while the rest of his body stayed purposefully relaxed. He didn't like where this was going. "Yes."

"What were they like?"

"You know what they were like," Peter said. "Where do you think Jasper got half of those bites of his? He's far too good a fighter for them all to be battle wounds."

"How come yours aren't as bad?" I had an immense curiosity about Peter's scars. I'd never noticed Jasper's before he pointed them out to me, and Peter never gave me the opportunity to look.

"Because Jasper fights with his teeth. I don't think he's ever come out of an altercation without a fresh bite mark added to the collection. I prefer to come at my problems from the side."

"Have you ever changed someone?"

"Not on purpose."

"Why not?" I wondered, skipping right over the implication of his answer. This was yet another no that didn't mean no.

Peter's face stilled: I'd offended him. "Not my job."

"Who changed you? Was it Jasper?"

"Where is this coming from?" Peter asked, narrowing his eyes.

I shrugged. He didn't need to know that I'd been wondering a lot of things about him for some time now. Some of these things I wanted to know just to know them.

Peter was suspicious for sure, but he answered all the same. "No, not Jasper. It was just another soldier. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he'd already eaten his fill."

I stayed quiet for a moment before asking, "Does it matter who does it?"

"Oh," Peter said. "I have to tell you, you're getting better at disguising your intentions with all these questions if that's where this was going."

"I was just curious." It went unsaid why I would wonder such a thing, but then again, Peter surely knew exactly what my concern was: would it make any difference if it was Edward?

"I can't see how it would. There's no tie created through the venom, no passing of traits. It's all the same poison."

I supposed that was all the explanation I needed. I'd known it probably wasn't the case, and I'd already been positive that it wasn't anything imperative. All I had to do was think of Alice and Jasper to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that shared venom couldn't possibly compete with love. Still, if things didn't work out with Edward, where would that leave me? I didn't dare ask Peter, I already knew exactly what he would say to that; something eerily similar to the cynic screaming in the back of my head that Edward shouldn't be a deciding factor in this at all. Love should be a bonus, not an incentive.

"Will you tell me what it's like?" I asked, unsure if I was crossing a line or not. When Peter didn't answer right away, I rushed to clarify. "Jasper explained a little about newborns, when he told me what happened to him. I guess what I really want to know is if that's how I'll be, too."

"Everyone deals with obstacles differently. You can't draw comparisons between the newborns you've seen and heard about and assume you'll be the same. It doesn't work that way."

"That girl from back in Forks ― Bree ― she was so…" I wasn't sure how to phrase it. "She was just like Jasper said newborns would be. Wild. Volatile. I took one look at her, and I knew there was nothing she wanted more than to kill me."

"You're worried that you could turn out anything like her?" Peter shook his head. "Environment is everything for these kinds of things. She was born into violence and hatred with no idea what had happened to her. To wake up like that, it is more traumatizing than you could ever imagine. It shapes you in a way you can't comprehend, and there isn't anyone who's lived through it who wouldn't say that your lack of understanding is a _very_ good thing."

For someone who had to have every single piece of information pulled out of them under the best of circumstances, I couldn't figure out why in the world Peter was being so forthcoming on the subject. I didn't think much of it when I said, "I thought you'd be more difficult about this."

"I've made peace with that time in my life."

"Just not what came after," I muttered.

Peter gnashed his teeth. There wasn't a chance he would say anything more about it.

"Sometimes I think I should fight harder." I sighed and let the notion roll around in my head for a moment, hoping something would snare and make what I felt easier to translate into words. "Shouldn't I be fighting it? I always told myself it was my choice. I decided. Now it's not."

"How do you figure?" Peter asked. He didn't understand exactly what I was saying, but neither did I.

"Alice. Jasper. They say there's only one road left. That my future is tied."

Understanding dawned on Peter's face. I wished he would share whatever revelation he had, but he didn't. "I see."

"It makes me feel like my life isn't mine anymore. When Jasper told me, it just made me want to run harder, to get away from that place as fast as I could, but there's nowhere to run. I can never get far enough away. What's wrong with me, that I can't stop running and start fighting for my life?"

"You make it sound like living forever is a death sentence."

"Sometimes it feels like it is."

"You don't get it, do you?" Peter asked. He looked almost sympathetic. "Alice still sees you as a vampire because you are willing. There are so many that would change you. It isn't just Edward and Alice ― it's not even only Cullens. That future will stay for as long as you let it."

"I guess that makes sense." It wasn't like it was possible to change my mind now. I couldn't undo all I'd learned and witnessed since meeting Edward, and with that knowledge came a price.

"What's bringing all of this up now?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. I've just been thinking about it a lot lately. The future, the past—all the big and small things that brought me here. It's a little clearer now, in the way that I can see how foggy it used to be. That whole month… it was terrible. So much came rushing in that I couldn't handle it, and it made me see just how little I am in the grand scheme of things. It made me see what I looked like next to Edward, and I didn't like it. I didn't feel like me, and it made me start doubting everything."

"And what about all these questions you've come up with?"

I didn't really want to admit it, but there wasn't any reason not to. "I realized that you're probably the best person to ask."

"Along those lines," Peter said, wavering for a moment before charging forward. "Are things better for you now? Has being away helped?"

"What, are you giving Jasper status updates?" I asked, only partially kidding. I had no idea why Peter would ask something like this. "I feel a lot better now, but I'm also starting to see that I shouldn't have left the way I did, even if it turned out to be the right thing to do."

"There's not much you can do about that now." He paused for a moment and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "I don't mind, though. I think I'm starting to like having you around."

"When did that happen?" I bit my lip and tried not to laugh at what was obviously a difficult thing to admit.

"I don't know. Around the time I was holding your hair back while you threw up in a trash can." I glared. Peter didn't turn his head the slightest bit, but he knew. "Don't give me that look. I can't remember laughing that hard in… I don't think I've ever laughed that hard."

"That really was one of my worst ideas." Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as humiliating in retrospect.

"Are you going to go back to Forks?"

I probably should. I had amends to make, and there wasn't any difference between figuring out myself here or in Forks ― but I enjoyed living in Andover, with Peter. "No."

"Why not?" Peter asked, not sounding all that surprised. He really could read me far too well.

"Honestly?" I asked, trying to buy some time. Peter didn't answer, and too soon I had to take a deep breath and get it out. "Because no matter how much I love Edward, now that I have some space it looks different. Too needy, too codependent. When he left me, I fell apart. I felt like I'd died. Now that I've left him ― now that the decision was made by me ― it doesn't feel like that again. It just aches. I miss the little things, but apparently they are all things I can live without.

"No matter the reason, leaving was a good thing. I felt so trapped there. Everywhere I looked there were walls closing in ― I was…" I had to pause and swallow back some of the emotions threatening to smother me. "I was drowning there, and even if I'd wanted someone to pull me ashore, I didn't know how to ask for it."

Peter had to swallow back some unknown emotion of his own, at that. "I'm glad things are better for you here."

"Me, too." It was a rueful sort of smile on my lips. "The distance has been good for me, no matter how wrong it feels sometimes."

"You make it sound like a terrible thing."

"Shouldn't I want to be with my family? With my friends?" I shook my head and dropped my gaze to the floor. "I'm letting the clock run out."

"You say that as if you have any choice. Time will pass, that's all it does, and you are powerless to stop it."

I didn't think I'd ever be able to understand how Peter could be comforted by something he couldn't control.

"It won't go away," Peter said quietly, and I turned my attention back to see he was doing much the same as I had only a few minutes ago. He had his gaze fixed far away from me. "The ache. It never goes away. It becomes part of you, for better and for worse."

I wanted to prod, but Peter was terrible at talking about these sorts of things and it seemed to be in my best interest to let the conversation fade away. I stood and retrieved Peter's computer from the table and retook my seat across from him on the couch. Somehow this had become part of my nightly routine; every night we read or worked while we talked. It was my new normal. I was developing a fondness for it.

"Which was your favorite costume?" Peter asked, and I jerked my head up in surprise to see him looking just as confused by the question as I was. "You said that was part of it, right? Kids in their costumes? So, which was your favorite?"

"I liked the one dressed as Cousin Itt," I said, unsure of why Peter was asking about something he'd deemed to be pointless. "What about you?"

Peter gave me a look like I was even crazier than he was for asking.

I laughed to myself and continued with what I'd been doing. "Never mind."

Silence spanned the living room: a comfortable quiet interrupted only by the occasional sounds of my fingers tapping against keys or Peter flipping through one of his files. It wasn't until late in the night when my brain finally felt as exhausted as the rest of me that I retreated down the hallway toward my room with only a muttered 'goodnight' in my wake.

"Yes," Peter said when I reached for my doorknob. I turned back; he hadn't moved from the couch, but this time he looked me in the eye. "The question you've been dancing around all night, the answer is yes. I changed Charlotte, and no, it didn't make any difference."

It was the first time I'd ever heard him speak her name.


	11. Chapter 11

Late nights were standard, living with Peter. I still had trouble sleeping, and Peter made for surprisingly agreeable company in the dead of night. There was never any need to fill silences with empty conversation, and while he made a habit of setting me on edge, he could rein it in when necessary. Night after night he was there, doing his own thing, and in that quiet presence of his, there was something comforting.

I never gave it much thought. The balance we'd found was a by-product of adjusting to each other. We'd found a middle ground; a delicate foundation to build what could turn out to be a friendship on. Still, while considering this, curled up on the couch, there was another aspect I should have given more thought to. I'd taken it as fact that falling asleep next to Peter should have been uncomfortable to the point of being impossible. As it turned out, it was quite easy.

A steady weight stroked my head, easing me awake.

It took a full minute of laying still with my eyes closed before I could wrap my mind around it. I was… I was on the couch. A slight shift under my cheek alerted me as to what ― _who_ ― I was sleeping on. This could not be happening.

He must have known I was awake, but he remained quiet. The weight left my hair, and I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back to see him above me, leaning against the back of the couch, one arm resting along the top of the cushions. It was the middle of the night, the only light coming from a lamp next to his desk and the harsh glow of his laptop balanced on the arm of the couch. He stared at the bricked-in fireplace across the room as if this were all perfectly normal.

I sat up and kept quiet, inching further from him while I struggled to figure out what happened and how I could get out of it. The moment I opened my mouth, he interrupted me. "You're about to make this really awkward, aren't you?"

Yes, I probably was. I was embarrassed and confused, and there was a violent force uncurling from the deepest part of my gut that demanded I react. It caught me by surprise as I teetered between two extremes, ready to topple with the slightest provocation.

For once, Peter seemed reluctant to give me that push. "It's not a big deal."

Except that he was a giant liar, and it was a _huge_ deal. Faced with a choice between embarrassment and anger, I went with anger. "I don't want your sympathy, and I don't want _this_ ," I insisted, gesturing at the space between us. "I don't want to need you like I needed him."

"It's not like that." There was something in his tone that clearly said there was more to it than what he was letting on; some reason he didn't want to share as to why he let me curl up next to him on the couch and fall asleep when he'd been so insistent I stand on my own.

He refused to look at me. It made me sad and angry, but mostly it made me feel defeated. Even Peter felt so bad for me, he'd given up. Now, I was hopeless in his eyes, too. A thousand insecurities and prickling thoughts that had been festering ever since leaving Forks all came bubbling up at once, and I managed to both cough and burst into tears simultaneously. This was mortifying.

Peter turned his head toward mine, and something softened in his eyes, but it left in a flash. He let me cry for a few minutes, then looped his fingers around my forearm and gave a short tug, but I held firm. He didn't let go, but didn't press it, either.

I felt the precise moment I snapped.

"I can't need you like this," I whispered, wiping the tears from under my eyes as I struggled to get myself under control. There were dozens of things I depended on Peter for, but I couldn't let this be one of them. I couldn't let him replace Edward in any way; otherwise this exercise was a failure. I knew all of this, and yet my protest was weak because I didn't have the strength to defend it. Peter was meant to help keep the distance between us. "I just can't."

"You can trust me, you know," Peter said. "I won't be your crutch and you know it. It doesn't have to all be on you."

Again, I remembered that fleeting sense of understanding that had come when I'd realized what Peter meant when he said there was a difference between asking for help and begging for rescue.

"I depend on you too much already," I admitted. "It's upsetting because I have this illusion that I'm in control and I know I'm not. You follow me, you protect me. You keep me from wallowing too much and I shouldn't need you for that ― and when I don't get that from you I can't do it for myself."

"You think I follow you?" Peter asked. He chuckled and shook his head. It was yet another thing to add onto the pile of things I didn't understand today.

"You don't?"

"Of course not. You think I have nothing better to do than trail you around town all day?"

"I thought you were keeping an eye on me?" I shouldn't have asked — I already felt like an idiot.

"Well, yeah, but I don't have to follow you to do that. Your phone has GPS. Every few hours I check to see where you are. I only go after you when you get too far away." Peter gave me a look I wasn't sure how to decipher. His fingers around my wrist tightened. "I assumed you were intelligent enough that if you ran into trouble, you'd call me."

"Well, what if I didn't have _time_ to call you?! What if someone like James or Victoria happened to be passing through?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "There are no other vampires in the area. Do you honestly think I don't check?"

"You really haven't been following me?" This bothered me for a whole slew of reasons. Little thoughts in the back of my head started itching for attention, and they were the kinds of things I didn't want to think about ― the whys.

"No, but I might have to start."

I frowned. "Now you're concerned?"

"About things like vampires coming to snack on you? No." He set his jaw and flexed his fingers—irritated and warning me against pushing too hard on this. "What has me concerned is this: exactly what sort of crazy shit have you been up to, since you apparently thought that no matter what happened I'd be there to bail you out?"

His worry was baseless. I hadn't done anything even remotely reckless in all the time I'd been staying with him, but still, the thought was unsettling. I'd been alone out in the world this whole time. Alone, and lately, somewhat happy. I wondered if that meant something. I refused to let my mind linger on how weird it felt to be trusted.

"I guess I just assumed…"

"Not surprising," Peter said with an indulgent smile. "You're so narcissistic; I can't believe Carlisle didn't want to study you."

I did my best to make him spontaneously combust through sheer willpower.

"Don't give me that look. I've gotten used to your crazy, self-centered behavior by now. It's kind of fun, actually."

"Liar," I accused before realizing that I'd just agreed with his assessment. I hurried to cover my tracks, even though it wouldn't do any good. "You're just so arrogant that you've convinced yourself you're above caring."

Peter looked taken aback for a moment and then began laughing. "You may be right about that."

"We need to have boundaries, Peter," I said, determined to change the subject. "I don't need your help with this."

"Well," Peter said. "Who said it was all about you?"

I froze, and Peter took the opportunity to tug on my arm again; this time I didn't resist. I let my cheek settle on his shoulder and closed my eyes despite my mind racing with all the reasons this was a horrible idea.

"You remind me of someone I thought I knew," Peter said. My eyes snapped open, but I kept my mouth shut. His shoulder rose as he took a deep breath, but he said nothing else.

Instead of asking questions I said, "You don't remind me of anyone." It wasn't true in the strictest sense. I'd thought many times that Peter and Jasper were so alike it was uncanny ― but while their temperaments and mannerisms were similar, there was an unmistakable difference between them.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Peter wondered.

"You first." Everything about this ― the proximity, the conversation, the implications ― made me extraordinarily nervous.

"Quid pro quo, huh?" He was silent for a couple minutes. I didn't dare ask again. "A good thing, I think."

"Agreed," I whispered.

"I think if I could sleep, I wouldn't. Not if I could help it. And let's face it, I'm a stubborn son of a bitch ― I'd go days. Like you used to when we first got here. This isn't pity; it isn't me feeling sorry for you. I'm not trying to be the ridiculous knight in shining armor, frantic to save you from whatever demons are circling. It's…"

I craned my neck to watch him as he tried to come up with the right words. In some ways, I appreciated that he struggled sometimes, too. It made me feel like we were on the same plane.

"It just is what it is." The set of his jaw was hard, and he didn't look satisfied with what he'd come up with.

I didn't know what else to say to that but, "Thanks."

I didn't want to give up this new way we'd found to talk to each other, so next I asked him something small, inconsequential, really. I wanted to know something meaningless about him. "What's your favorite thing that you have now, that you didn't have then?"

"When I was human?" Peter asked, and I nodded. "That's easy. T-shirts."

I was torn between laughter and befuddlement. "Really?"

"Yes. The dress code these days, it is so relaxed. That you can plaster whatever you would like to tell the world across your chest, I think that is brilliant."

"I have never seen you in a t-shirt," I pointed out. Peter dressed casually, but, like Jasper, he seemed to prefer long sleeves and button downs.

"I tend to tell the world what I think of it on my own just fine."

I couldn't help but laugh. "That's an understatement."

"You though," he said, a mischievous smile creeping over his face. "You could benefit from a couple dozen t-shirts."

"I don't want to know what sort of suggestions you have."

"Are you sure? I bet I could come up with some epic ones." Peter tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch as he thought; the drumming made my eyelids heavy. "Just be quiet and go back to sleep. I was kind of enjoying myself before; you know, when you weren't talking."

"Funny."

I didn't fall back asleep, but I did sit for a couple hours with Peter, desperately trying not to think of how nice it felt to share some closeness.

* * *

Over the next week my nightmares all had one thing in common: Peter. I never remembered much of them when I woke up, only that he was there, in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Something indecipherable pierced the set of his eyes, and I was afraid. Mostly, though, there was a heavy sense of foreboding as I waited, too, for whatever was coming.

I didn't ask Peter any more questions, and I didn't allow myself any more late nights curled up on the couch. In moments of clarity I recognized I was trying to pull back, to keep from getting to know him any better and to prevent him from seeing any more of me than he already had. It was something involuntary, at first. Some instinct raging inside me, and one I wasn't sure I wanted to control. I felt helpless every time that overwhelming sense of tension settled when Peter was around.

If I let myself, now I didn't just have reasons not to go home, but reasons to stay ― and that had never been part of the deal.

The pretend sense of familiarity where Peter and I teased and mocked each other had evaporated, replaced with something meaningful. I couldn't deny that Peter wasn't only doing a job, and like with almost everything else, I wasn't ready for this. I was so tired of making excuses, and I didn't know how to make myself stop.

I avoided him the best I could ― not an easy feat considering we'd gotten used to spending almost all of our free time together. Peter complicated the matter further by suddenly deciding to meddle in _everything_.

When I sorted the stacks of photos I'd taken since my birthday into storage boxes, Peter immediately stole and created albums from them. He said it was because it was stupid to take all these pictures if I was just going to keep them hidden away. I thought he was probably talking about something else.

I allowed Sheila to con me into helping with a bake sale for her son's football team. Peter took it upon himself to memorize the recipe for my contribution and buy the ingredients. He hovered in the kitchen with a disgusted look on his face and running commentary about what he imagined the vampire equivalent of the treats would be.

He invaded each and every distraction I found with brutal efficiency.

Ever since that night on the couch, I wasn't sure how to act around him. Peter made me feel like an awkward, bumbling little girl who didn't know how to run free, and never mind that it was perhaps the most accurate assessment of myself I'd ever heard, I didn't like that it had to come from him so forcefully. I was a live-wire. I was exposed. Peter's needling was something I'd gotten used to and had learned to expect. This other side of him set my teeth on edge. The only thing I'd planned to deal with from him was a calm indifference, nothing more.

And somewhere in the mess of trying to create distance while analyzing Peter from afar, something changed. Amidst the smiles, jokes, and snarky comments, Peter created a little distance of his own. He locked away his stack of folders and deleted all the video surveillance from his computer. He didn't find people any more.

* * *

The first time it snowed, I had a panic attack.

It was nothing, delicate flakes that melted away the moment they touched the ground, but I looked out the window and all I could see was red, red, red. Phantom drips curled down my fingertips; ashes and smoke clawed their way into my lungs.

Peter didn't know what to do with a hyperventilating human. He floundered in place: reached out and thought better of it three separate times before he finally stepped in front of me, blocked my view out the window, and said, "You going to tell me what this is all about?"

"I'd almost forgotten it ― the blood in the snow." My voice cracked and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't swallow. "The smoke and ashes…"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Of course. I should have known that amid a battle between covens, you'd find a way to start bleeding. Christ, you're almost as bad as Jasper."

"I cut myself with a rock," I said, detached from the explanation, "to distract her."

Peter gaped at me. "I honestly can't decide if that was incredibly brave of you, or the stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

"It was stupid," I supplied, feeling a little calmer. I took a few steps back, and after a brief assessment, Peter returned to his seat across the room. "So little of what I do is actually brave."

The weight of that day constricted my heart, some terrible nightmare I couldn't escape. I'd been sleepwalking ever since that girl looked at me, and I didn't know how to wake up.

"There's no rule that says you can't be both. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

"Not really. I thought Seth was hurt and reacted without thinking. The only thing I accomplished was to make everything harder on the people who were trying to protect me." My mind wandered back to that day. "It's always like that, though. I'm never able to help in any genuine way."

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's worse being the one who has to act?" Peter asked. "Having someone else's life hanging on the decisions you make isn't any easier than being useless. This event you keep coming back to is over. It's done. You can't turn back the clock by sheer force of will and erase what happened."

I didn't have it in me to deal with Peter's goading. "Is it so much to ask that if you can't be a little nice, you just leave me alone?"

"I am not a comforting person." Peter said seriously. "That's not how I'm built."

I was less bothered by it than I would have thought. Maybe someday, I could be confident like Peter.

"If we're going to be friends, you should at least try." It was a cheap shot, and I knew it. Peter and I ― we were building a connection. It was something strange and mystifying, sewn through our secrets. We weren't friends; I couldn't imagine we ever would be, no matter how much or little we tried.

He watched me from across the room; I could feel the weight of his stare as it settled over me, becoming heavier second by second. I had to force myself to blink. He stood, and something in his expression shifted. "What is it, exactly, that you want from me?"

I let out a breath and told him the one truth I was sure of. "I just want you to try."

Peter looked to be giving significant consideration to this, and I caught a flash of something unsure when he came to a decision. He said nothing when he crossed the room, or when he lifted his hand to my cheek. His touch was rougher than Edward's had been; Peter wasn't as concerned with hurting me.

His thumb swept the hollow of my cheek. "What are you doing?"

He leaned closer, his nose a hair's breadth away from mine; eyes hooded, but still so intensely red. He was biding his time. Peter excelled at waiting for just the right moment. I faltered, glanced down at his lips, and he struck. He was hard, fast, out-of-control passion slamming through me with a steady hand tangled through my hair. My back hit the wall with a controlled force; just hard enough to shake me head to toe and leave me winded.

I barely noticed his grip on my thigh, or his leg wedged between mine. I pulled at the collar of his shirt so hard I felt the fabric give, and I felt strong to destroy something with my bare hands. His lips were fierce against mine, and there were no brief pecks or chaste warm-ups. The rush that jolted through me was incredible.

I didn't know kisses could be like this.

Our pace slowed from desperate to something slightly more leisurely, and at long last my brain caught up with my body. I didn't know what had prompted this. I didn't know why or when, and I was shocked to find that I didn't care.

Peter tugged on the hair twisted through his fingers and kissed my jaw before lowering his mouth to my neck. For a moment I was nervous, but then his lips pressed against my skin and he didn't feel cold. I let out a breath.

His grip on my thigh lessened, and I felt more of my weight settle on my feet ― I hadn't noticed he was holding me up. His palm dragged over my hip, slid up and under my shirt, and I was sure I'd catch fire any second. Everything felt a thousand times more potent; the friction between us, the trivial gulps of air drawn into my lungs. I could feel him pressed against my hip, and I was suddenly so, so aware of his leg between mine.

"Oh my God." They were less words than a moan tearing its way from my throat.

"Feel better?"

I could only nod, mouth agape. What had just happened?

"Good." Peter released his hold on me and stepped back, a curious expression caught halfway between a smirk and a smile on his face—but his brows furrowed when he walked away.

My back slid down the wall; my legs could do nothing to support me. "Wow."

There wasn't anything else I could think. Just… wow. And in that moment I wanted nothing more than to call Rosalie, to tell her all about the time I kissed a man for no reason at all, and how amazing it felt.


	12. Chapter 12

I never understood people who would go for a run to clear their head, but after putting up with twenty-four hours of Peter pretending nothing had happened, it seemed like a prime opportunity to figure it out.

In all honesty, I'd started with the ignore it and it will go away premise, too. The moment the haze cleared and I picked myself up off the floor, sanity came tumbling in along with better judgment. I didn't want to have to deal with something like this, and denial sounded like a wonderful solution. That sort of thinking didn't last long. By two in the morning I'd cycled through an absurd amount of potential reactions ranging from crazy to absolutely insane. I couldn't stand thinking about it anymore.

I ran circles around the block until needles stabbed my lungs and my side cramped. My mind fell blissfully silent for the last half block before it felt like my chest was about to cave in. I had to drag myself back to the house.

The problem with vampire roommates is that they are impossible to avoid.

"What's eating you?" Peter asked. He eyed my sweaty clothes in distaste before returning his attention to the book in his lap. How ironic that now I was the one running, and Peter stayed locked up in the house reading.

I stood panting by the front door. Waking up next to Peter on the couch had been enough to infuse uncertainty into every moment I spent in his presence; this was a thousand times worse. I didn't know how to do this ― how to stand here, looking at him, knowing how his lips and hands felt against my skin. I couldn't deal with liking it.

There were a thousand questions I wanted answered and I had two options: I could agonize over them, let them fester and drive me crazy until I started demanding answers, which would invariably end with Peter on the defensive; or I could let it go. Staring at Peter, so tense and wound as he waited for me to answer him, I knew which was the better course of action. I could also just come out and ask now.

"Do we need to talk about it?"

I should have known better than to expect anything short of the most frustrating answer possible. "Not yet."

It wasn't a yes or a no, and it was worse than either. Not yet implied something was coming, that I had to wait for him to develop his opinion on the matter. Not yet meant this wasn't over. I stormed right back out of the house and ran another lap around the block before sneaking in the back door.

I hated that I couldn't place all the blame on him. Peter may have been the first one to cross the line, but I'd jumped over right after him, and now everything was twisted beyond recognition. If I'd only been able to pull away, to keep my head instead of getting sucked into the moment, maybe it wouldn't feel like everything was falling apart. Peter had asked what I wanted from him ― what I'd failed to realize in that moment was that I really should have asked him the same question.

The next day I obliterated the imaginary border surrounding Andover and sought distractions in Wichita. I felt ridiculous when I marched into the largest hotel lobby I could find and parked myself in front of the tourist brochures. It was particularly childish to seek events and areas which would make it harder for Peter to keep track of me, but an overwhelming determination to keep Peter at a distance won out over reason. I needed time to think; I needed more space.

Hours slid away in museums and quaint coffee shops. All the distance in the world couldn't bring my tangled web of errant thoughts into focus. The only conclusion I could reach was that I was simply confused. Every aspect had me conflicted, because guilt flooded a massive chunk of me, while another could accept that it was unreasonable to feel that way.

Last week I could say that I'd only kissed two people in my life. It was the little, meaningless things like this that nagged me as the sun set and I walked through the Arkansas River Trail. The tree trunks crowded the worn path, and in some ways I was right back where I was last September; surrounded by leaves and branches, sloppily trying to find something lost to me. All I wanted was to spend a few days mourning what seemed more and more like the definitive end of my relationship with Edward. Because this guilt was madness. There was no reason for it, and yet it churned within me, constant, taunting, and begging to be let loose.

Edward had a minor presence in my thoughts lately, and in some ways that seemed like the bigger crime. His name should have been more than a fleeting comparison floating through my head. We weren't together; I didn't know if we ever would be again ― but if I dwelled on the memory of him I felt wrong, like I'd done something terrible by letting Peter press his lips and hands to me without consequence. Then, immeasurably worse, I'd thrown myself into the moment and kissed him back.

There was something wrong with me. Maybe I could talk to Edward ― get some sort of reminder we were operating as separate entities now, and the only thing we owed each other was atonement for all the ways we'd screwed things up. I understood that part, now. Edward and I had both made many mistakes, and they all led to a place where one of us had to walk away.

It didn't make me feel any better.

Deep down I knew little of my apprehension on this matter had to do with Edward, and this begged a far more complicated question. What did Peter want? Because for all he tried to play it off like it was nothing, I didn't believe him. Peter had a set of basic reactions, and I'd lived with him long enough to identify them with little effort. Something had touched a nerve. After he let me nap on the couch with him and before he kissed me, something had flitted through that brain of his that had caused him some turmoil of his own.

If it was one issue or the other, I'd be able to handle it. If there were just thoughts of Edward, or Peter refusing to say anything, that would be fine ― but I couldn't deal with both. I was being pulled toward two extremes, and I couldn't sort anything out because there wasn't anywhere for this to go. Even if there was the possibility of something more with Peter, I would never consider it. He played his cards too close to the chest. There was just too much about him I didn't know, too many questions he may never answer—and I had to admit that it mattered, because at some point I'd started caring about the jackass.

Would things be different if Peter didn't keep so many secrets? If his past and present were clear and obvious, would I be more willing to think about him in terms of kisses?

I kicked the rocks out of my way and enjoyed the seclusion. I took pictures of the branches snapping beneath my feet and relished the freedom of not having to be quiet. It had been so long since little, human noises were something I didn't have to worry about. The sky darkened, and I shook the errant thoughts from my mind. The guide I'd picked up had been right; the view of the river was beautiful at night.

"This is definitely one of the stupider things you've done."

My entire body stiffened. I should have known he'd be keeping careful tabs on me today. We'd parted on terrible terms, and I was far from home. I tried to settle into a mask of indifference before turning to face him. As usual, I couldn't fool Peter.

"I thought you didn't follow me."

"I thought I told you I reevaluated that decision." Peter shook his head. "You know, Jasper warned me you were like this sometimes, but I didn't believe him."

"Like what?" I asked, immediately on the defensive.

"That you can take a significant amount of effort. What he failed to explain was the way you deflect any implication of support with what you categorize as independence. You don't even know what independence means. It does not make you brave or self-sufficient to walk through a deserted forest in the middle of the night. It just makes you a moron. We talked about this."

"I can take care of myself."

"Would you like to test that theory?" Peter asked, and I lifted my head to see fury dancing over his face. "You think that because you have survived the horrors of the vampire world that you are immune to those in the human one?" Peter stepped closer and dipped his head to speak. "There are terrors just the same wherever you go. You forget what's out there in the dark. To be fearless of anything is stupidity of the finest degree."

He had a point. Instead of admitting it, I crossed my arms and focused on keeping my frustration in. It didn't take long before I snapped, instead. Ten seconds later, I was fuming so hard I may as well have not tried at all. I finally had the courage to ask what I'd been dying to for days, "Why did you kiss me?"

Peter stepped back and shook his head. "Stupidest thing I've ever done in my life."

This type of thing used to offend me. "Why?"

"Are you saying you think it was a particularly smart thing to do?"

"No," I said, too riled up to tread lightly. "I don't appreciate you trying to make your point like that."

Peter returned his attention to the surroundings. "How pissed off would you be if I said it was the only way I could think of to make you stop freaking out and shut up?"

"On a scale of one to ten? About fourteen."

"I was curious," Peter said after a tense moment. "That's why."

That was a mighty suspicious way to put it. "What does that mean?"

"I'm still figuring it out."

"And now that you're not so curious?" I wondered.

"I don't know. I'll probably do it again." He said it with a casual ease, but there was a glimmer of something else there that I couldn't quite place.

"I'm not being fearless, you know," I said, ready to change the subject now that I was sure Peter wouldn't give me any actual answers. "I checked this place out; I found it in a tourist's guide. I talked to the guy at the entrance. He said sometimes shady stuff goes down deeper in, but lots of people come here at night to look at the river. I carry pepper-spray. One of these days you'll have to stop assuming the worst of me."

"All right, then why are you out here? Besides the river, of course." He glanced toward the water and scoffed. Apparently, he didn't understand the appeal.

I shook my head and started walking back up the trail. "I wanted somewhere calm and new; somewhere to think."

Peter huffed. "And how's that working out for you?"

I muttered, "Fantastic."

"Are you really so wound up over one little kiss?"

Of all the things he could say, he just _had_ to pick that. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it. Or at least that's how you're acting."

He didn't want to talk about it. Peter wanted to fight. "You don't get to fall apart every time something happens that you don't know how to deal with."

"I'm not falling apart. I'm taking a walk. And it's not the kiss," I said. I was furious with myself for explaining anything, but it was impossible to hold it in. "Not entirely. It's all the things I had to think about after. It's about coming to terms with everything being different, and what I think of you."

"Oh? And what _do_ you think of me?" Peter asked, a shadow crossing his face.

For once I had no difficulty verbalizing exactly what I wanted to say.

"I think at the very least you could pick a side and stick with it," I seethed, kicking up more gravel. "But no, you're always running hot and cold. You push and push, but guess what? You don't get to have everything happen on your timetable. You don't get to drag me into whatever conversations you want to have and then dig in your heels when I want to ask questions.

"I have my own massive pile of issues I'm trying to work through, and the last thing I need is you shoveling more onto the heap. I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to cope when I can't talk to my dad anymore; what life will be like if I become a vampire and wind up alone. And Edward―" And that was what it really came down to. Edward, and whether he was a factor in any of this or not.

"What _about_ Edward?" Peter asked. He hadn't taken such a fierce tone with me in ages. "You broke up with him. You left him. You gave up your rights to him months ago, and that includes the bad along with the good."

I blew out a breath and let his words sink in. What a way to put it. "You're right."

"No, you ― wait, what?" It seemed Peter had expected me to argue.

"You're right." It was uncomfortable to admit such a thing so plainly, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets and turned toward the river. "I don't have any right to be upset over him."

Peter stared at me for a moment, then came to stand by my side. "I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Could have fooled me."

"You know, you aren't the only one who is confused. We're both kind of fucked up, so maybe you could give me some leeway here."

"Why did you come here?" I wondered.

Peter shrugged and looked out over the river. "Felt like the right thing to do."

"How's that?"

He remained silent for what felt like nearly a minute before he turned back toward the exit of the trail. "Let's go home."

I followed a few paces behind, wondering if this increasingly present concept of the right thing to do was one of those things that Peter didn't try to control. I drove back to Andover. Peter ran.

* * *

The first words out of Peter's mouth when I walked in the door were, "We should talk."

"You're not going to kiss me again, are you?" I took a seat next to him, my legs curled to the side; a poor imitation of a barrier.

Peter turned his head and shot that look of his at me that said he thought I was crazy. "Just so we're clear: are you ever going to let that go?"

"Not until you explain to me why you did it."

He set his jaw, and I watched another biting retort roll halfway out of him before he yanked it back. "Because I wanted to."

There wasn't much I could say to that. I plucked a book from the coffee table and started reading from where Peter had left a bookmark. After a few minutes Peter turned the television on and flipped through the channels until he found an old western. I hated westerns.

"I won't make a big deal about it, if that's what you want." I flipped to the next page and smiled a little.

Peter snorted. "And what do you want in exchange for your cooperation?"

I considered my options. I could ask for something ridiculous, or something that would bother him, but there was a gnawing in the back of my mind that maybe I could posit a conversation Peter wanted to have even less than this one, and see which he would consider the lesser of two evils.

"Tell me about Charlotte." I was sure he'd refuse. It seemed Peter would always surprise me.

"What do you want to know about her?"

I shrugged, desperate to not let on how anxious I was. I'd built this one thing into something ridiculously huge in my head. "I don't know. Just… what was she like?"

"She was vibrant. So full of life." Peter spoke quietly, with an angry reverence. Like he hated remembering her so bright. "I don't think she ever forgave me for what I did to her ― for taking that life of hers away. She loved me, I believe that, but it was always at war with the part of her that hated me for the hell I sentenced her to." Peter glanced my way. "Tell me about Edward."

There were a thousand more questions I wanted to ask, but I thought maybe, for now, this would have to be enough. I didn't have any right to demand this information, and I definitely wasn't ready to think about the situation we'd found ourselves in ― that Peter would rather talk about Charlotte than about kissing me.

"Edward was…" I wasn't sure how to describe him. Finally, I settled on something simple, but apt. "Edward was perfect."

Peter scoffed. "Oh, please."

"He was, and I never felt right standing next to him because of it." I ran my fingers along the cover of the book in my lap and tested the limits. "Is she dead?"

"No. What will you do when you're changed if you don't go back to him?"

My plans for the future weren't something I'd ever thought Peter might want to know. It certainly wasn't anything I wanted to think about. I took a page out of Peter's book and deflected. "I'm not sure. Maybe I'll just stick with you."

"As if I'd let you."

"You so would." I laughed to myself and shook my head, but my humor fell away when I caught the serious look on Peter's face.

"Your turn."

"Are we really doing this?" I wondered. "You're just going to let me sit here and ask whatever I want, and you'll answer?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess so. Just ask."

"Is she gone for good?"

Peter nodded.

I needed two deep breaths before I could ask my next question. This was dangerous territory. "It was your fault, wasn't it?"

"I made a decision she couldn't live with, and then she had a choice to make: she chose to leave." Peter leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The look on his face was intense, dangerous. "You once asked what sort of people I work for."

My gut churned, and I knew something big was about to happen. It didn't feel like something good. I closed the book in my lap and wrapped my fingers around the edges as I tried to figure out if I should blurt out the first thing to cross my mind or wait and see if he'd say it first. I needed a minute to think, some time to consider how I would feel if I was right.

I'd known something about our situation didn't add up, but denial was powerful. I'd happily ignored the flaw in this plan of Peter's ever since I realized just how little effort went into sheltering me. There was only one reason Peter wouldn't care if I ran around on my own. There was only one way he could be certain that the Volturi wouldn't find us ― after all, it would take a complete moron not to notice how little we were hiding. He'd said, that first day, that he didn't care if I ran up and down the street screaming that I was Bella Swan.

Peter waited a moment, I wasn't sure for what, but the more seconds ticked by the more I didn't want to hear him say it. Since I knew he would, I said it first. "It's the Volturi, isn't it? You work for the Volturi."

"Yes." Peter continued, either oblivious or uncaring for the cold sweat breaking out on my forehead and the sudden goosebumps on my nape. "When they need an alternate method of locating someone, they come to me."

My head was going to explode. Everything always seemed to come back to them. I was on my feet and backing away before the thought to flee crossed my mind. Thunderous gasps for air filled the space between us.

"I didn't tell you at first because I didn't know you and it wasn't any of your business. After I got to know you a little, I didn't say anything because I'd found you to be a little narrow-minded. You react emotionally instead of rationally. You still do, but it's getting to the point where you need to know."

There were many ways this could go. I could freak out, scream, yell, and generally fall apart at the seams, or I could listen to what Peter had to say and try to deal with this maturely. I'd already turned toward the first path, that was just the way I was, but I could still try for the latter and that was what I wanted to do. Still, panic chilled my veins and stole my reason. Blood rushed to my ears so loud the rest of the world was silent. A hundred questions went racing through my head, but the only one I could catch hold of was why would Jasper ever leave me here with an agent of the very people I was trying to hide from. My sight flew to the door, to the window. Peter sat silent, waiting for me to process.

My nostrils flared, but my temper remained in check. "I don't understand. How could Jasper…"

His gaze turned hard and insistent. "What do you mean, how could he? This is why you came here. Demetri cannot find you, only I can. This is what it means when I say you cannot possibly understand how far Jasper's ties reach. I am not loyal to the Volturi; I am loyal to _Jasper._ "

Peter's attitude drove mine, and in the span of a few seconds anger washed all the panic to the back of my mind. I couldn't deal with this explosive knowledge dropped in my lap as if it were something I should have seen coming. It was, but that wasn't the point.

"You should have told me."

"Perhaps." Peter's jaw flexed and his posture softened. "Yes. I should have told you."

I couldn't stop the coil of betrayal rising through my stomach. "Do they know I'm here with you?"

"No."

The tension in my legs loosened, and after another minute of silence I regained the sliver of sanity I had left long enough to ask the most important question. "What happens if they ask you to find me?"

" _When_ they ask, then by a happy coincidence I will find you newborn and red-eyed, perfectly in compliance with the agreement they offered."

Honestly, I expected nothing less of him; even yesterday I would have said that if there was an immediate threat, Peter would probably bite me. He was pragmatic in that way.

"You didn't tell me this before, because you thought I couldn't handle it." It sounded like an accusation, and after I thought about it for a moment, I decided that it was. I'd thought Peter was so different, but here he was, hiding things from me for my own good just like everyone else. It pissed me off more than I could comprehend.

"Can you?" Peter asked.

I glared at him until he had the decency to look away. "You had no right to keep this from me."

"The matter of my employer was none of your business until now. Besides, you never asked, and don't pretend the thought never crossed your mind. I know you aren't all that surprised to hear it. You'd already guessed."

"I thought about it a little," I admitted. "But you didn't have to make sure to confirm my suspicions at the worst possible time. You didn't have to sneak a kiss, first." And in a fraction of a second my cooler head flew out the window, and I was livid. "Why do you have to screw with my head every chance you get?"

A shadow crossed over Peter. "Stop it. Stop acting like you're the only one trying to straighten out their shit. You are not the only one confused. You are not the only one who almost got married, and you're not the only person to give up their identity for love. This is not all about _you_."

I felt a little sick. "I'm sorry―"

" _Don't._ Don't you dare feel sorry for me. I take responsibility for my actions. I know the price for what I've done."

"You mean what you did to Charlotte." The barb was nothing more than an attempt to slap him.

I didn't expect him to answer, but he did. "I spent many years as a soldier, much longer than she did. She wasn't suited for it. When we left, all she wanted was peace. She wanted the life she could have had if she'd never met me, or Jasper.

"She didn't want me; she wanted what she thought I could become ― but that's not the way it works. I couldn't fit into the skin she'd assigned me. When she realized that, there was nothing left to keep her. She had no reason to stay. For her, I was nothing but horror." He said it all with an angry detachment, a chill set deep in his snarling words. "It was only a matter of time before she left."

I started connecting the dots, and that was when the rage hit me too hard to hold back. It boiled deep in the pit of my stomach and raced up my throat to spew from my lips. For the first time I understood exactly what Peter was trying not to say. After all Jasper had told me, I couldn't imagine thrashing free of one set of chains only to be shackled by another. I knew why Peter hadn't wanted to explain this event before, and it wasn't just because it wasn't my business or because it was a touchy subject for him. Peter didn't tell me why Charlotte left because he knew I would empathize with her, and that I wouldn't be able to trust him. I'd never given the proper amount of thought to Peter's omissions until now. What else had he hidden from me, and why?

"It's no wonder your only friend is Jasper," I muttered. "He's the only one you can't keep out."

Peter scowled. "And what does that say about you, that your only friend is me?"

"I have Alice."

"Oh, really?" Peter asked. "When was the last time you spoke to her? You're just punishing the people who care about you because they let you run away."

"At least I didn't escape one army only to enlist in another." I spat.

Wrath overtook Peter's face, and something terrible came alive in those disturbingly bright eyes of his. I'd finally taken it too far, and it was petrifying because I'd never seen Peter out of control before. He snarled. "I will not change my nature. Not for her. Not for you. I will not play suitor to your expectations."

"I expect _nothing_ from you." It was exactly what he wanted me to say, twisted up into a pathetic imitation of his aggressive debate.

"If you can't deal with this, then leave. Go crawling back to Edward. I won't change to appease your delusions of who or what I should be."

"You don't get to tell me what to do. And I don't need you lying to me for what you think is my own good. I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I don't need saving. Especially not from you."

"No, you don't need a savior," Peter said lowly. He leaned close enough that his breath tickled the shell of my ear. My nostrils flared. "Doesn't mean you're solid—but really, who is?"

"You said 'when.'" The realization sent ice running through my veins. "The timing of this, it's not a coincidence, is it? You're telling me this now for a reason."

Peter backed off and assessed me before confirming my suspicion. "Something is stirring. I don't know anything for certain, but Jasper's heard whispers. I don't think you have much time left. You ready to put up a fight yet?"

I shook my head and clenched my teeth. Even if I hadn't been gathering my resolve, that last comment of his surely would have pushed me over the edge. "I'm getting there. I want this to happen on my terms, not theirs."

"I'll do what I can to buy you that time," Peter agreed.

"You have no more control over this than I do."

"No, I don't, but there's something about this that makes me want to see how long I can beat them back. I'd like to see what happens when you catch hold of your fire." Peter bowed his head, and his breath shivered down my neck. "You're like a monster whispering in my ear."

"I've never been called a monster before."

"That's hard to believe. What do you need to happen so you can deal with this?"

I tried to tamp down the anger swirling through me toward him, but it was a battle I would not win. "I need some space from you."

"Then take your time to think," Peter said. He took a step back, and then another. "I'll be around."


	13. Chapter 13

Peter didn't come home for three days. When he did, it was a stand-off: we were both going to do everything in our power to get the other to break. This was, without a doubt, the stupidest battle of wills we'd ever engaged in. I was going to win if it was the last thing I did.

It was obvious Peter was angry. I was angry, too. The problem was that we were both too damn stubborn to be proactive about it. There was a war brewing. Whoever spoke first was the loser, and any second, it'd become a matter of pride. I was seriously considering drastic measures to make him give in. Or, at least that was how I rationalized washing all of his whites with six brand new, bright red socks. Apparently, Peter and I both had the maturity of twelve-year-olds when it came to dealing with our emotions. I figured that was something I'd work on later, and he could just go to hell.

I was being unreasonable. Engaging in this battle with Peter wouldn't help anything, and I was squandering what little time I had left. Three days wasn't nearly enough time to complete my list of all the opportunities Peter had to mention that he worked for the Volturi, or that he had a far bigger hand in my future than he'd lead me to believe. It wasn't enough time to convince myself that Jasper hadn't been manipulating me when he'd left certain pieces of information out, or that out of everybody, Alice should have been the one to say something. Three days wasn't enough time for any more than a fleeting curiosity of the bigger picture buried in rage.

It was torture being in this house bought and paid for by the Volturi. Andover used to feel like an escape — a stay of my execution — now it felt like a holding pen. Any day the Volturi could swoop down and pluck me from the gated community full of oblivious humans and do away with me however they saw fit, and the man I'd thought stood between me and them was nothing more than their instrument. I wasn't ready to deal with any of this. It was too much, too heavy, and I had no more free passes left.

Peter had told me about his affiliation in that way, at that time, for a reason—and it hadn't been because he had to, not really. He didn't say he needed to tell me, he'd said that I deserved to know. That clarification felt meaningful and dangerous. He staged that seemingly impulsive confession; Peter was truly a force to be reckoned with.

He didn't care if I wasn't ready to hear it, because I needed to. That was the kind of man he was. He wrapped all his kind gestures in barbed-wire, and he never treated me like something more than I was. There were no pedestals involved on either of our parts. It was nice, in a way, not fighting for the honor of who wasn't good enough for the other.

Maybe — just maybe — in his own way, Peter thought he was looking out for me. It was something to be considered. Trying to unravel Peter's motivation and feelings was even more difficult than trying to figure out my own.

More than anything, I needed a break, which was how I found myself marching across the street and pressing my finger to a doorbell I never expected to be ringing. I didn't like to admit it, but there was a vain hope that if I could put all my concerns into purely human terms, they'd be easier to understand.

Any other day I would have laughed at the confusion fluttering over Sheila's face, "Jan?"

"Hey."

Her smile faded as she got a better look at me. "Are you… is everything okay?"

I couldn't find any way to answer that question without giving Sheila too many details. I settled on telling her, "No. Peter and I got into an argument."

Sheila smiled and grabbed her purse from the hall table before shrugging her jacket on. "Come on. Let's go for a cup of coffee. Any preferences?"

"As far away as we can get."

"I know just the place."

Sheila didn't ask any questions as she navigated to the highway and toward our destination. I hadn't realized she was capable of being quiet for so long. It wasn't until we were sitting in a diner with mugs of coffee in front of us that she said anything.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sheila asked, reaching out to place her hand over mine. She might have been vapid and shallow, but she was _nice_.

"He kept something from me, and I don't know if it changes things between us."

"Secret family in Nova Scotia?" Sheila asked. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out if she was serious or not.

Maybe this was Sheila's revenge for all the times I told her nonsense about Peter. "No, nothing like that."

Sheila cringed. "Secret family in Tampa?"

"Maybe we should talk about _your_ problems." I laughed, I couldn't help it.

Sheila grinned and removed her hand from mine. She drummed her fingers on the table and gave me a look that was far too perceptive for what I knew of her. "So, the honeymoon is over, huh?"

I didn't like the implication, but it was as good a way to put it as any, so I nodded.

"And you don't want to talk about it," she said, nodding to herself. "Alright, but you have to tell me something. How did the two of you meet?"

This part was difficult to explain, too. "I went to high school with a friend of his."

"It can't possibly be that innocent!" She looked downright appalled at the possibility.

For some crazy reason I didn't want to let her down. Besides, the opportunity to share the dramatic aspects of my love life came about so rarely that I found a desire to indulge. "I may or may not have been engaged to his friend's brother."

Sheila sat back in her chair, looking proud of herself. "Okay, but if you tell anyone else, say that he worked for your father, and it was a monstrously illicit affair."

"Why in the world would I say that?"

"Because that was my theory, and I really don't want to give Cathy the satisfaction of knowing she guessed right."

"Which one is Cathy?"

Sheila shook her head. It really was pathetic that after all this time I barely knew anyone. "The brunette at the end of the block who wanted you to walk her dogs."

"You know that none of that crazy stuff we said about each other was true, right?" I asked. "I don't have a drinking problem, and Peter definitely does not want a baby."

Sheila held her hands out, palms facing me. "Hey, whatever gets you going. No judgment."

I imagined my face was about the shade of her cherry-red nails. "It's not like that."

"Whatever you say, sweetie." Sheila twirled her finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

I didn't have the heart to tell her she was delusional, or how massively disturbing it was to realize that talking about Peter like we were actually involved wasn't _that_ bizarre. I supposed playing house for nearly four months could do that.

"Are you still painting?" Sheila asked after a moment.

"What?" How had she known about that?

She shrugged at my expression and explained, "I just remember seeing you hauling all those bags from the craft store inside a couple months ago. I assumed you were painting—you had an easel and some canvases."

"Oh." I guessed that made sense. "Not really, anymore. I've been taking pictures, though. I like it better."

"I don't know how you manage to do either. Have you ever thought about showing them?"

That was something I didn't even need to think about. "No."

"Private?" Sheila guessed.

"Yeah."

"You really don't want to talk about it, huh?"

"Sorry, it's just kind of personal." I shook my head and stared down at my coffee. "I'm not much for conversation today, apparently."

"That's all right." Sheila gave me a sympathetic smile, paused for a moment as if to be sure, and then launched into a thirty minute long monologue about how sure she was that her mechanic was trying to overcharge her.

It made me think of Jacob, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. It didn't seem likely. If he ever came home, surely it would be too late. It made my heart feel heavy, and I sent out a wish that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he'd found some happiness.

Sheila mistook my melancholy for disinterest and with another sympathetic smile, she paid our bill and hustled me back to the car.

* * *

The house loomed, casting a long shadow that swallowed me whole. Even after an entire day of no one for company but Sheila, I couldn't make myself go inside. Instead, I got in Peter's car and drove for an hour before pulling into an empty parking lot. I told myself that I was only doing this because I needed some distance, so I could think. Having Peter gone wasn't helping, and Sheila — while being easy to talk to — couldn't be told the finer details, the ones that mattered.

If there was one thing Peter was right about, it was that we were both pretty messed up. During the darker hours of the night, I sometimes wondered if I stood Edward and Peter side-by-side, what I would see. I didn't have enough information to know for sure, but I did know it was one of those questions I probably didn't want an answer to. Peter's damage may have been a mystery, but the way he dealt with it wasn't. Peter became instantly uncooperative when he lost control over a situation. I, on the other hand, apparently ran away as fast as I could and did very, very stupid things.

I had absolutely no right to make this phone call, but I couldn't talk myself out of it. Faced with a choice of whom to turn to, it seemed my priorities hadn't shifted. When things got hard, I ran to Edward. Even countless miles apart, I couldn't break my dependence on him. I was selfish and raw, and desperate for someone to talk to who I was sure I wasn't angry with. It wasn't my right to disrupt his life, and it wasn't my place. I did it anyway.

Edward answered after only one ring. My stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice; it took nearly all of my concentration to avoid throwing up all over the passenger seat.

"Bella?"

"Yeah." It may as well have been a squeak disguised as a greeting.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked, sounding worried. "Where are you? Do you need help?"

"No, no," I said, forcing myself to calm down a little. "I'm fine. I just… I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

"For what?"

A hysteric laugh bubbled in my throat. "For what? For everything. For the way I handled things, for how long I left you hanging…"

Edward sighed. "Bella, how many times will I have to tell you that I want you to see the world before you believe me?"

"About a million," I muttered, feeling bitter about it.

The line was silent for an uncomfortable span before Edward asked, "Are you happy?"

It took far less time to answer this question, even though it ripped my heart to shreds. "I think I was, for a while. Now… now I'm just angry and confused. I don't think it's possible to be happy right now. There's too much other stuff weighing me down."

"I don't suppose there's anything I can do to make it better?"

"No." I smiled into the receiver. My breathing evened out as I relaxed. "But it means a lot that you want to."

Edward let out a short huff against his end of the line and said, "You can talk to me about it. About anything."

"I'm not really sure what to say. I don't want to hurt you, but I don't want to hide things, either." I pursed my lips and stared out over the pavement. "I guess it'll take some getting used to."

"Let's make a deal, then," Edward said. "From now on, no matter what, we don't lie to each other. We always say exactly what we mean, and we don't hide what we think will hurt the other."

"That sounds wonderful." I felt a smile break across my face. Then, belatedly, I asked, "How have you been?"

I'd never felt so genuinely curious in my life. I wondered if this was a good omen, if the kind and inquisitive feeling racing through me at the sound of Edward's voice indicated that we were on the mend. We might never be what we once were, but we would always be something. The possibility made me feel hopeful in a way that I hadn't experienced in so long.

"I've been well," Edward answered, terse and short, and so obviously leaving something out.

"Only well?"

"I-I never would have thought I would say something like this to you, but I suppose it falls under our new arrangement." Nervous, stammering Edward was adorable. "I have… I have a date?"

"Really?"

"I think so. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Emmett is convinced it is a date. Rosalie is mostly trying to scare me, I think."

"Tell me what she's like."

"She's no you."

I couldn't think of a single thing to say to that. In three words, Edward plucked out my biggest unconscious fear and set it loose: what if I did something horrible by leaving the way I did, and would he be able to move on if he kept doing things like comparing the women he met to me?

"You do know that I love you?" Edward's voice was low, and I could imagine exactly how his face looked as he asked — earnest but guarded, like he wasn't positive it was something he should say.

"I know. I love you, too. It just… it wasn't right."

"I know you felt that way," Edward said. "Even before, there was always some doubt running through your mind I could never figure out."

It could have been his wording, or that I'd spent the past three days on the defensive, but irritation rose, no matter how ridiculous it might have been. "It's not always so simple as puzzling out the answer. I was insecure. I felt insignificant next to you. I wish there was some way to make you understand that."

"Just because I do not agree with your insecurities does not mean I don't understand, or that they aren't valid."

"Alright," I agreed. "Yeah, I get that."

"We could have talked about this before."

I scraped my nails along the steering wheel and considered that. "No, I don't think we could have. I didn't know how to talk about it back then."

"Then I'm glad that you've found a way to."

"I like this," I admitted. "I like being your friend."

Edward chuckled. "I never thought I'd say this, but me, too. You'll keep in touch?"

I nodded as I replied, "Yes."

Maybe it didn't have to be so bad. If Edward and I could come out of this as friends, we could wind up better off than we'd started, like me and Charlie, and the prospect was appealing. I wanted an easy relationship with Edward. I'd always assumed we'd only be able to have it as lovers, but it seemed we still had a window open, even after slamming so many doors shut.

"Whatever is wrong, I hope it gets better," Edward said. Silence spanned between us, and he said, quieter, "I wish there was something I could do, but I know you wouldn't want that even if I could. So all I can do is hope, right? I wish all the best for you."

"Thanks, Edward."

" _Anytime._ " He stressed the word. "If you ever need something, all you need is to ask."

"I wish I had the power to offer you the same."

"You bring me joy. What else could I ever need?"

I thought that in this instance, in this iteration of our relationship, that could be enough. I didn't know how to express the feeling, though, so this time I let the moment pass. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Stay safe," Edward said in place of goodbye.

"I will."

I hung up the phone, rested my forehead against the steering wheel, and allowed myself a few tears for what might have been if I'd only found a way to say all these things to Edward when it might have made a difference. I let myself consider the what ifs and alternate paths we might have taken, and then, once the sadness has passed, I pulled myself up and together. If there was one thing I'd learned from this experience, it was that Peter was one hundred percent correct all those times he'd told me it was pointless to fixate on the things I had no control over. This was one of those things. I couldn't change it. All I could do was keep moving on.

It used to be that everything I thought made me strong stemmed from Edward. Now that I'd put him outside my reach, it was difficult to consider that I could ever feel that way again. It was still hard to see myself as significant without him — but it wasn't impossible. There were things I was good at, and friendships — both meaningful and otherwise — that I'd forged outside of Edward's influence.

Apparently, I could drive the most stubborn man I'd ever encountered out of his home for days on end. It wasn't something I should be proud of, but in a way I was. My anger meant something to Peter, and I thought maybe I should allow that to mean something to me in exchange. I shouldn't let this become something it wasn't. Part of that was admitting to myself that I kind of missed having Peter around, no matter how much of a jerk he was.

He eroded all my hard and insecure edges into something more manageable, and I didn't know how to adapt to these new boundaries he gave me. We were standing at crossroads, and for the first time it felt like the outcome hinged on my decisions alone, instead of anyone else's. This time I wasn't being dragged along for the ride. It was true: being the one who had to act, no matter how small the decision, was hard.

I could leave. I could go back to Edward and see what was left of our relationship — but there was a persistent nagging in the back of my head that insisted I stay put. I still didn't know what exactly had happened between Peter and Charlotte, but I _did_ know that when the chips weren't falling where she wanted, she abandoned him. I would not be like her, not this time.

I'd already been down that path once, and I wouldn't go there again. It wasn't about Peter, though. When it came down to it, Charlotte and I were the ones with the most common ground; when faced with the things I didn't want to deal with I'd done just the same as her, but I refused to fall back on old habits. I ran away once and I wouldn't do it again. Not even for Edward.


	14. Chapter 14

For me, forgiveness was a tricky thing, and not just where it came to Peter. Time and again I struggled to put the past behind me, to not let it dictate my actions, and failed. Now, a fresh sense of betrayal and confusion had joined the caustic mixture in the back of my mind.

There were the persistent insecurities from Edward and fear over every moment spent with Jacob; I was always so afraid he would interpret something innocent as romantic. I thought of the bitterness I kept deep down over the thought that it was so easy for Renee to let me go; even still, it was difficult to talk to her. I'd never thought of myself as a particularly vengeful person before, but I was learning otherwise ― learning that there were different types of vengeance.

Five days after Peter's promise of space and two since I'd last seen him, I still spent as little time as possible in the house. My aversion to it was weakening ― it was just a house, after all ― but I still hadn't figured out what I wanted to say to Alice and Jasper, and surely clearing the air with them should have priority over dealing with Peter. Apparently five days was long enough, though. I stomped through the front door, and it wasn't until I'd tossed the keys on the hall table and toed off my shoes that I noticed Peter had run out of patience. I was amazed he held out for as long as he did.

"Surprised to see me?"

Peter stood when I caught sight of him, a frown tugging his lips downward. The expression fell on the befuddled side of surprise; I was getting better at reading him. "I was starting to wonder if you ran away with my car."

"You thought I was going to bolt?" I didn't blame him for it. Neither of our track records accounted for any other reaction, and I had thought about it, however briefly.

"I considered the possibility."

"What would have done if I'd left?" I wondered, trying to disguise the importance of his answer behind a stern face.

It was obviously a test, but for the first time Peter wasn't sure what the right answer was. A beat passed, and he scowled. "I would have gone after you. I wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to tell me to fuck off to my face."

"And the actual reason?" I asked. The chance to say something so rude to Peter was a little appealing, now that it had come up, but we both knew that I never would have done it.

"Because I promised Jasper I would look out for you. Even if we ignore the implications of that, I would feel bad if something happened to you because you felt like you had to get away from me. I'm not a monster, you know." Peter's teeth gnashed together by the end, his words forced out, bitten and bruised.

"I don't think you are, but there is still one question you have to answer for me," I said, hoping I managed to convey how important it was. It would make or break whatever tentative friendship we'd built. "When I helped you―"

"No." Peter interrupted with fire blazing in his eyes. "I would _never_ ask you to help find someone the Volturi wanted."

I took two even breaths before speaking. "What happens if they ask you to find me?"

"Depending on the circumstances, any number of things."

"Then give me the worst-case scenario."

"They would give me days. We'd have to react immediately."

"You'd be the one to do it?" It set a churning in my stomach. Talking about this was no longer hypothetical. It was going to happen, and soon.

"Yes, if we couldn't get Carlisle here in time. Rosalie would be able, I think, but I haven't been keeping track of where she is." Peter rubbed his hands together, thinking, and gave me a look I didn't understand. "Is that a problem?"

"No." I answered too quick. Peter looked wary, so I made myself clarify, "I'd be okay with that."

"I'll start keeping tabs on her and Emmett, too. Just in case."

"And you'll tell me, right? When they call you?"

Peter nodded. "You'll be second only to Jasper."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, feeling timid, but also determined. These were things I needed to know. "Is there anything that can make this easier?"

"Unfortunately, no," Peter said. "At least I don't think so. I've never been in the position to prepare beforehand."

I hadn't forgiven him, but I nodded my understanding. I had to at least try to be objective. "Look. I get why you didn't tell me about the Volturi thing right away. Because you're right―I would have reacted emotionally. I would have run away from you as fast as I could, and who knows how much time we would have wasted before I would even be willing to listen to you. So, I get it. I understand why, but I don't know how to deal with it.

"I look around at this house, the car, the life I've been living here, and it's just a cage—no matter how many times you try to tell me otherwise, I may as well be in a suburban-sized holding pen. And, for crying out loud, Peter, how ridiculous is it that _you_ are the one who brought up the comparison in the first place! One day the Volturi are going to tell you to pluck me out of here, and then what? How is it that nobody, not even Alice, told me that the only thing standing between me and the Volturi is you?" I ground my teeth together and tried to put the brakes back on. I needed to keep myself calm, and to remember that Peter wasn't the only one I felt betrayed by.

"Have you talked to her?" Peter asked. He leaned forward and tilted his head to get a better look at my face.

I felt ashamed when I said, "Not recently."

"You should. You won't get answers, otherwise."

"Don't you know?" I wondered. It was pathetic, but if it was as bad as it looked, I wanted to hear it from Peter. Alice and I were too close; she was too sweet, and I didn't want this distance of ours to evolve into a rift between us.

Peter pressed his hands together and kept his eyes on me. "I asked Jasper not to tell you. I can only assume he asked Alice to do the same."

A burst of air rushed from my lungs in a cross between a sigh and a scoff. "Is it ridiculous that I'm a little angry that she chose you over me?"

Peter shook his head. "Really, she was stuck between you and Jasper. He's the one who took sides, and I won't lie to you: there wasn't any reason he should have considered yours over mine. I knew he would agree when I asked; so did Jasper when he asked me to watch out for you. We don't deny each other those sorts of favors."

"Great. So I can't really even be mad at Jasper." Well, I could, but it wouldn't be helpful.

"What about me?" Peter asked.

I made myself look him in the eye and take care in considering the answer to his question. My face scrunched up and I tried to figure out where, on a scale of one to ten, I really was, now that I'd heard some explanations. "I think I understand where you were coming from. So yes, I'm angry with you, but it's complicated."

"It can't possibly be so easy." Peter narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

I muttered, "I might have accidentally mixed some red socks in with your whites."

"Believe it or not, I noticed." Peter only looked mildly irritated by it. Maybe he thought it was funny; either that or he just didn't care.

"Sorry." I didn't mean it, but we had to start somewhere. "I over-reacted, but so did you. You lashed out at me for something that wasn't my fault. You treated me like I'm to blame for things I had nothing to do with. I'm not Charlotte, and I won't let you talk to me like I am."

Peter ducked his head just to stare at me through his lashes. "I know. It's just ― look; I won't patronize you with rationalizations. I shouldn't have said those things to you, and I'm sorry."

"I know we're not exactly buddies," I said, "I mean, we're friendly, sort of. We've been cooped up in this town together for months. We get along. That's not insignificant, right?"

Peter looked like he was fighting the battle of his life trying not to roll his eyes. "I suppose."

"Then why don't we talk to each other? I talk, sometimes I can badger you into talking ― but we don't converse. I don't understand you, and I think that's my problem. You keep dumping stuff on me, and I never know how much more ammo you have left."

"I don't know what you expect me to do here."

"You tell me everything," I said. "You explain it all, at least the stuff that has to do with me. Right now. No censorship. No hiding. You're always expecting the same from me."

"No, I'm not," Peter scoffed. "You've got it in your head that I have this need to control when we talk and what we talk about, but you have every right to refuse explanations, too. Just because you're open and willing to talk about all the darkness clawing at you doesn't mean I have to, too. You could say no when I ask questions. You could tell me to shut the fuck up and leave you alone. I won't be held to your standard. You don't get whatever you want just because you think I owe it to you.

"However," Peter said pointedly when I opened my mouth to give him the biggest verbal thrashing I could come up with, "don't take that to mean I won't give you explanations. Just don't misunderstand my motives. The things I choose to share with you are because I want to. Not because I feel obligated. You shouldn't settle for anything less, anyway."

There was so much I wanted to say in response, but my curiosity won out. "Why did you start working for them? What made you turn away from Maria, only to wind up with the Volturi?"

Peter flexed his jaw and spoke with a disturbing amount of detachment. "You are not the first person to seek refuge with the enemy."

I hated it when he pulled this type of thing. "Don't speak in riddles."

Peter sighed. "I assume you know the basics of what happened?"

I nodded.

"There would have been repercussions for my actions. Maria may have been content to let Charlotte and I go, but taking Jasper? That was a whole new level of treason. I knew that if ― when ― she came after me, it wouldn't have been me who paid for what I did. Jasper had connections, even back then; it was in my best interest to forge those ties as well."

It was a bit more tragic than I expected. "You did it to keep her safe?"

"Sooner or later, someone would have come after us. I did what was necessary to save us both. It's yet another thing you and I have in common, when logically we should be complete opposites."

"Why didn't you just explain―?"

"You think I didn't?" Peter interrupted again. "Charlotte wanted peace, and she couldn't have that with me. I couldn't resign myself to a life spent running away. She could, and most of the time I don't fault her for that.

"All I wanted was to live my life how I saw fit. To love her, and have her love me back. I made concessions, I tried to be the man she needed, but it's not in me to give up fighting or hide who I am. I am not a peaceful person. I cannot stand idle when there is work to be done."

"What else?" I wondered, ready to ease the conversation away from the minefield that was Charlotte.

Peter stared out the window. "I was naïve, like you, once. I believed in absolutes and the world as I perceived it to be. I found myself cast to sea and drowning, with only Jasper to pull me ashore."

"You told me once that he didn't care about you like he cares about me."

"He doesn't," Peter said. "Jasper and I ― we are two sides of a coin. We are kindred."

The notion made me jealous; how nice it must be, to have such a friend. "I can't imagine what that's like."

"From what you've told me, you and your father share a relationship not all that different."

"I miss him," I confessed, instantly deflated. "I never knew him, not until I moved to Forks. It seems so bleak, a future without Charlie."

"In a way, that's the nature of all relationships shared between parents and children. There's always an inevitability of loss."

I still didn't like talking about Charlie with Peter, so I asked him something else. "Did you mean to fight with me so much, before?"

Peter flexed his jaw and balled his fingers into fists. "No. That wasn't all about you. That was my baggage."

I resisted the urge to reach out to him. There was no telling if I would stroke his hair in an attempt to comfort or slap his face because even after I'd sorted out all my feelings, I was angry with him for piling his problems on to me. I had enough baggage of my own.

"I think―" Peter stopped for a moment to regain his bearings. "I think I understand more now. I always said I didn't blame her, but maybe I did." He shifted his eyes to mine. "I get why she had to leave."

"How did you deal with it?" I wondered. It felt like knowing this would somehow help resolve some of my lingering worries about Edward.

Peter knew exactly what I was angling at. "That's different. I knew it was my fault, and I had time to prepare for it. Charlotte leaving was a consequence of my actions, and it was a price I paid willingly."

"Does that make it better or worse?"

"As much as I would like to lie to you, I much prefer the way it happened. I knew it was coming. I was ready for it."

"And Edward was blindsided," I said, completing the thought.

"I know you think that, but believe me, he had to have known something was wrong. You have a terrible poker face."

He had a point: Edward may not have known I was going to leave, but he certainly knew something was coming.

"You look like you've got something else on your mind."

"I just don't get it," I said, unsure of what I was about to ask. It'd been a while since an inquiry had felt so childish. "You could have anything you wanted. I've seen the luxury surrounding the Volturi, surely you can have all that, too."

"I'm not someone who feels the need to make up for the things missing by collecting useless declarations of wealth." Peter tilted his head to catch my eye, and I caught his lip twitch. "If you were to examine my life, you would find that I have everything I need."

"What about Charlotte?" I challenged.

I thought he probably wouldn't answer me, but he sat a little straighter, and said, "I don't need Charlotte. I wanted her ― more than you could possibly imagine ― but I've lived without her for forty years. I don't _need_ her."

"Are you happy without her?" I wondered. Our conversation was hitting far too close to home for me. This shared experience of leaving the person you loved was just one of many things that was the same in our histories.

"I am…" Peter wrinkled his nose and seemed to search for the correct word before settling on saying, "I am content. Whether or not that equates to happy is a matter of much debate amongst your kind."

"And yours," I argued. I couldn't stand being sorted into a whole different spectrum of expectations and requirements just because I was human.

"True."

"You stopped working." I knew it meant something.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Peter frowned and drummed his fingers along the couch cushion. "It didn't feel right anymore."

I thought that probably meant more than anything else he'd given away. And so, I smiled at him the best I could after such a heavy and drawn out conversation about life and death, and sat next to him with my feet tucked to the side. Peter looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. He stared for a moment and then nodded and slid his book across the coffee table toward me before settling back.

"I think you should start it up again."

Peter glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "You do, huh?"

"Yeah. The legitimate ones… I enjoyed helping you with them." It was difficult to admit. I'd always given Peter a hard time about his job, and I'd never let on that I found some fulfillment in it.

The hint of a chuckle escaped him, and he stood. "That's something I never expected to hear from you."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

"Maybe not." Peter crouched next to his desk and pulled a file out of the bottom drawer before pushing it closed and standing in the same swift movement. I'd assumed he'd hidden that stuff better. Or burned it. He held the file out to me. "If you want to work, then work."

* * *

I had learned to be something of a morning person while living with Charlie, and then Peter, but being dragged out of bed at five was something I wouldn't ever be able to appreciate.

A hand squeezing my shoulder jerked me awake. My eyes flew open to see Peter standing at the side of my bed, a trace of delight on his face.

I responded by pulling the covers over my head and ignoring him. Not ten seconds later, he yanked the bedding back again. I glared up at Peter with all I was capable of half-asleep. " _What_?"

"Get up. I've got a surprise for you."

"Later." It came out as a whine, but I couldn't care. "It's too early. Go away. Come back later."

"No can do." He reached for my arm after a moment, and I sat up before he could pull me off the bed or something equally obnoxious.

I scrambled to my feet and gathered the sheets and blankets around me with as much anger as I could muster. "Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?!"

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You look like an idiot."

"I do not!"

"You're wearing your bed covers like they're a cape."

I immediately dropped said bed covers on the floor. "What do you want?"

"Calm down, Supergirl. Get dressed. Have some coffee." Peter raised an eyebrow. "You obviously need it."

I didn't stop glaring until long after we were out of the house and in the car. It wasn't until Peter parked on the street across from the park that curiosity finally beat out my grumpiness. "What are we doing?"

"You'll see," Peter said with a self-satisfied smirk. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"You'll like it." He sounded so sure of himself as he marched me through the park and toward the fishing area just past the pond.

It wasn't until we stepped onto the wooden planks stretching over the water that I noticed it. Tied at the end of the dock there was a little rowboat, and I halted my strides and stared, confused and touched. I couldn't believe Peter had done something like this. I was immediately suspicious. "Why?"

Peter snorted. "You mean you don't know? It's my grand gesture. Something so over-the-top nice that you can't help but melt into a pile of gooey forgiveness. Not that I really think it's necessary, but there's something to be said for overkilling it. Besides, I'm sick of guarding my laundry for fear of more pink underwear."

"Wow, I'm good. I was only going after your socks."

"Well, it was either retaliate or rent you a boat, and I'm betting you already have pink underwear."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to hug or slap him. "How did you know?"

"You look like the type. I bet they have ribbons, too." Slapping Peter, it was. He glanced at me before staring back out over the water. "You talk in your sleep sometimes. Not often. Jasper had led me to believe it would happen a lot more than it does. Anyway. You talk about boats when you're not talking about books."

"I do?" It went without saying that Charlie probably featured in this sleep-talk, too, but Peter left him out of it.

"Yeah."

Something clicked into place, and I could hardly believe the conclusion I came to. "Did you buy all those books in Nebraska? I always thought it was Alice."

Peter gave a sharp nod in response. It was like suddenly realizing that I had been trying to put a puzzle together with only half the pieces.

"Why?"

"Why not? I thought all you ever did was read."

"And the non-insulting reason would be?" I asked. I tried arching my brow in the way he could pull off so well, but I didn't think I quite managed it.

Peter frowned and after a moment admitted, "I'm torn between telling you I did it because you seemed like you could use a random act of kindness, or admitting that there really wasn't much of one."

"You're a complete softy at heart, aren't you?"

Peter bowed his head and laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I didn't know what to say to any of this. It was unprecedented. I never would have expected anyone to do something like this, especially not Peter. "You want to come along?"

"No." Peter shook his head. "Maybe next time."

I couldn't deny I was happy he declined. "Okay."

"Just don't sink," Peter warned as I stepped into the boat. "I don't want to have to go in there."

Rowing was harder than I thought it would be. After five minutes my arms ached, but once I settled the oars back on the sides and started drifting, it was well worth it. If possible, it was even more beautiful out in the middle of the water. I could see why Charlie liked this so much. I'd have to go fishing with him sometime. He'd see right through it, know something was wrong, but hopefully I could pass it off as missing him while I was away.

Out in the lake's calm waters, everything felt a little easier. The dark haunting me wasn't so black, and all the things I'd struggled with for months on end looked so simple.

I couldn't change anything that had already happened ― I knew this, and I accepted it — but what was to come... Watching the water ripple, I decided that walking toward that future with my head held high and spirit intact was the best thing I could do for myself. I would lose Charlie, but I wouldn't trivialize that loss by pretending that he was being ripped from me.

I'd made my choice long ago, and for many reasons. Some were still valid while others weren't, but one piece would always remain static. I chose this path to protect the people I loved, and not even the Volturi could take that away from me.


	15. Chapter 15

Evening walks became somewhat of a staple as the days shortened and temperature dropped. It wasn't quite cold enough for a coat, most of the time. Instead, I wrapped myself in oversized sweaters layered over long-sleeved shirts. Peter seemed amused by the notion of daily exercise, but didn't stop me from dragging him out of the house once the sun sank low enough in the sky. He did, however, have an endless reserve of irritation for the Christmas decorations starting to pop up.

It was an enjoyable activity, and it worked well for our dynamic. Whenever he pissed me off I could start running and burn off steam. If conversation got too heavy, he could fall back and gather his wits. It was easier to process everything if I had something else I could focus on—it was simple to let my anger melt away, to understand that really, I didn't have to forgive Peter for anything. My acceptance of the situation was all that either of us needed, and I was finally in a place where I could give that.

There were better things to spend my energy on, things I could still influence, rather than this pitiful resentment that I couldn't do anything about now. So what if we'd argued and disagreed, that I felt like he'd been handling me? Peter had shown some measure of remorse for it, and the apology he gave me was genuine. He'd tried to make things right, and he had mostly succeeded. Peter may call renting a boat and sending me out on the lake alone a grand gesture, but it was more than that, even if neither of us said so. It was a multi-layered message; that he knew more than he let on, but never used it to his advantage; that he kept my secrets, and that he understood how much Charlie meant to me.

We passed a house with lights that flashed in an off-rhythm sort of way. Peter hated those the most.

"What would happen, exactly?" I asked, tugging my sweater closer. Whenever these nervous questions surfaced, my paces sped; I knew Peter noticed the tell.

"Didn't Edward already go over this with you?"

I frowned. "Sort of. He never wanted to talk about it much. We'd made plans to go to Alaska; Charlie would think I was at school."

"That's as good a plan as any," Peter waited for a moment. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, I just… I don't think I want that to be what happens anymore. It doesn't seem fair to them — to Edward — and from what you've told me about how sensitive I would be to my surroundings and the environment, I don't think it would be very good for me, either."

Peter tilted his head. "What are you getting at?"

I stood straight and came to an abrupt stop in front of a house blissfully quiet of decorations. "I want to stay with you."

Peter looked more amused than anything else, but still he leaned forward and cocked his head to the side, playing along. "And why on earth would you want that?"

"Because you won't baby me like they would. You'd let me try my strength but keep me from doing something I'd regret. Besides, wouldn't it be more…" I wasn't sure how to put it, or that I should say it at all, but I barreled ahead anyway. "Advantageous. It would be advantageous to let the Volturi think I'm in your care. They wouldn't meddle then, right?"

Peter chuckled. "Well, well, look at you. It's like you're all grown-up, thinking strategically and all."

"Oh, shut up." I grumbled. I shoved his arm with the heel of my hand and starting making my way around the block again. It was getting easier to settle back into our dynamic.

"It's a decent idea, in theory," Peter said, nodding, matching my pace. "But there's the risk that they would assume there's a chance of acquiring you at some point down the line. In that case, you would be safer letting them think your relationship with Edward continues. The Volturi respect Carlisle and Jasper. They would think twice about snatching you out from under them. I'm a subordinate—a contractor—they wouldn't have the same qualms about me."

I refused to show any more disappointment than a frown. I'd become attached to this possibility—now that Peter had shot down my argument, I wasn't sure how to rationalize it.

"That's not to say it isn't feasible." Peter glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his gaze to the scenery. "Where is this coming from? I thought you were still kind of pissed at me."

I shrugged and shuffled my feet. "I am. Sort of. But I also think maybe being with you is better for me than the alternative."

Peter kept his sight pinned on the trees lining the sidewalk. "You can stay. If that's what you want."

And because it felt like we were suddenly playing games, I asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

It took Peter longer to answer this time. "Yeah."

I was a little proud of him for managing not to be sarcastic about it. I looked down to my feet and let myself smile. "Then that's what I want."

"Jesus." Peter huffed, and I glanced back up at him. "You're going to make me regret this one, aren't you? With my luck your emotional crazy is going to translate directly into knocking me around at every opportunity."

I bumped my shoulder into his and chuckled. Everything that had gotten shaken up and turned around was getting back on track. "I'll go easy on you."

"You say that like you'll have any control over it."

I smirked. "Well, I promise not to enjoy it too much if I accidentally beat you up."

Peter snorted and nudged me back. "Liar."

The conversation stalled until we looped around the half-way mark and started heading back to the house.

"I won't say I'm not upset with the way you handled things — the way I was handled — but it's something I'll get over. I don't know if it makes any difference or if I even have a right to have been mad enough in the first place to say this, but I forgive you."

As quick as if it were a reflex, Peter retorted, "I don't need your forgiveness."

I followed Peter's lead and said exactly what I wanted, no holds barred. "I know. That's why you have it."

It was the boat, wasn't it?"

I laughed, mostly because he was right. "Yep."

"You know, you're one pretty messed up human."

I rapped my knuckles against his arm and laughed. "Coming from you? You may as well be calling me normal."

"You're finding your peace with this whole vampire thing?" Peter asked, and though my heart sank a little with any mention of this future of mine, it wasn't anything I couldn't deal with.

"I guess so. I can't stop it, and the only thing trying ever did was take away what few choices I have left. Besides — living in hiding, in fear, it's not really living at all. That's not what I want for myself."

"I can agree with that," Peter said, his voice quiet and burdened. I hadn't realized how that might sound to him.

"I wasn't talking about—"

"I know," he said, cutting me off. "I know what you meant."

I fished the car keys out of my pocket as we made our way up the driveway. "So, I'm staying with you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sure. We'll go back to Nebraska or something."

I made sure not to smile until I turned away from him to unlock the car.

"Where are you going?"

I wasn't about to tell him about my weekly coffee date with Sheila. Somewhere between bake sales and what had to qualify as a flat-out fraudulent book club, she'd wound up being somewhat of a friend. I didn't bother to hide my grin as I called back, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

Peter had an innate ability to blindside me. Just when I thought I'd gotten the hang of him, he'd throw another wrench in the works. It happened time and again, and still, I never quite expected him to knock my feet out from under me.

After a solid week of clawing myself out of the utter awkwardness that had descended upon every interaction with him, I should have known something was coming. Peter had an endless amount of surprises up his sleeve. He'd been oddly passive while I settled back into a grudging acceptance of life in Andover. I assumed he was giving me time to think. As it turned out, Peter had been doing some thinking of his own.

Peter glanced up from his book when I yawned and stretched just outside the door to my bedroom. I stopped in my tracks. Orange. His eyes were bright orange; neon, almost. "What the―"

"I don't want to talk about it." Peter buried his attention in his book. I wasn't having any of that.

"What did you... did you go veggie?" I couldn't help giggling at his scowl. "How was it?"

"Fucking furry." Peter pursed his lips like he was trying to suck something from between his teeth, and there was no stopping the laughter this time. "Do not expect this to continue."

"I would never." I was only being a little sarcastic.

"Because there is not even the slightest possibility that I will ever subject myself to that again."

I felt particularly bold when I climbed on the couch, so close I was nearly in his lap. The orange looked ridiculous, comical, and yet warmth bloomed in my chest as I poked at the skin under his eyes. I was a little surprised he let me touch him so softly; Peter didn't care for such tenderness.

"You didn't have to, you know," I said. Truth be told, I didn't mind Peter's diet, and I didn't expect him to change it for me. It was yet another inconsistency of my character. If I didn't see it, it didn't happen; or maybe I was gaining a greater understanding of this life and death thing. Someday, I'd face the same struggle Peter did; I'd have to choose which side of the line my killings fell on.

"I didn't do it for you," Peter countered.

"Oh, don't ruin it by being all sentimental." I was getting the hang of sarcasm. "If not for me, then why?"

Peter sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Just drop it."

"Oh, I don't know if I can." I was barely holding back my laughter, and not very well. "I thought you were happy with your lifestyle."

"I am. I told you, I was curious."

I didn't really believe him; Peter always said he was curious when he needed a throwaway excuse, when he wanted to evade answering. I'd known him long enough to understand that he rarely did anything without spending a good deal of time thinking it through. He was particular and cautious, and I'd put money on it that whatever had caused him to do this, he'd been considering it for weeks.

"Do not give me that look." Peter hadn't glared at me in so long, it was almost nostalgic. "Don't make a big deal of this and don't try to turn it into something it's not."

"Only if you promise not to downplay it." I allowed myself a small measure of triumph at the scowl I caused to appear on his face. I decided that maybe Peter could do with a little teasing. "For all your talk of how set in your ways you are, this just goes to show you. I mean, look at you—changing your diet after all these decades of massacring the townsfolk. I think you're getting soft."

"I didn't change anything," Peter insisted. I wasn't buying it.

"Right." I tried to arch my eyebrow in that way of his that was always so effective. I was pretty sure I pulled it off this time.

"People don't change. Not really. The surface might shift or give way, but this, what's inside…" Peter poked me right in the middle of my chest with his forefinger. Somehow the conversation had twisted and turned, and Peter had an angry gleam in his eyes. "The guts—those never bend. They never break. Trying to change who you are for someone else causes nothing but pain."

"But you did," I argued, swatting away his finger. I wouldn't back down from him. "You changed. Today you looked at yourself and decided that you'd rather kill a buck than a man. You thought about it—don't tell me you didn't."

"For your information it was a coyote, and it's completely superficial," Peter countered. "I may have gone for a stroll on the other side of the fence for an afternoon, but at the core I still want to sink my teeth into bloody flesh more than I want anything else in the world."

"You think it doesn't matter?"

He shook his head, and it wasn't pity he looked at me with, but something that vaguely resembled sadness. "We're all killers, Bella. The difference is that I don't try to hide it behind morality."

"How do you choose?" I asked. I'd wondered for so long. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend his answer wasn't important to me, but I was past such denial. The details mattered, they always had.

"My victims?" Peter reached out and passed his thumb over the scar on my wrist. "At first I went after the sick—the dying—but while that's fine in theory, the reality is different. They are not nourishing or satisfying, and the body count I racked up… Let's just say I gave Jasper a run for his money. You really don't want to hear about it."

I had no doubt he was right.

"Now I just look for myself. Men, no family, distant friends. People no one will miss. Evil or just, I don't try to make those distinctions. It doesn't matter, and I'm in no position to judge the goodness of men. The worst of humanity hides in the risers, the shining stars rot away in the dirt. I kill because I must, because through some twist of fate I'm higher on the food chain than they are. That's just the way it is."

"Don't forget your neighbors."

"I only did that twice," Peter argued, like that somehow made it better. "And it wasn't on purpose. I only told you that to—"

"Scare me?" I supplied. "Test me?"

Peter frowned. "You make it sound horrible."

"Well, it wasn't nice."

"At the time I wasn't overly concerned with catering to your feelings."

"And now you are?" I asked.

Peter nodded. "I suppose you could say that."

I wrung my fingers together, working up the courage to ask. "What's that about?"

Peter shrugged, still staring straight ahead. It was probably for the best. It really was hard to take him seriously with those neon-orange eyes of his. "I like you."

When Peter said things like that, it made me obscenely nervous. "You like me _how_?"

Peter made that face of his that said he thought I had a few screws loose. "Are you seriously asking me that? I thought by now I'd made it painfully obvious."

I'd kind of been hoping he hadn't been talking about kissing me, though, after thinking about it for a moment, I realized I would have been upset if he hadn't. "I thought you said that was the biggest mistake of your life."

"No, I didn't," Peter scoffed. "I said it was the stupidest thing I've ever done—and it was—but that doesn't mean I think it was a mistake."

"You know, it took me so long to figure it out, but I get it now. You put so much effort into making sure I see the worst side of you. You're always hiding the good parts. I wonder what happens when you stop trying so hard."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe you'll find out."

Peter leaned his shoulder into mine for just a moment before pulling away, and I felt something stir inside me; something I thought was exclusive to me and Edward. It terrified me a little, but the scariest part was that I'd lost the buffer of needing to figure myself out before I could let anything happen.

* * *

The second time Peter kissed me, it wasn't such a long drawn-out affair. It was a Monday afternoon. I'd finished my share of the work on one of his cases, and when he took the file on the way to his desk, he leaned in. It was completely out of the blue. Where before it had been something forceful—an action with a specific purpose—today his lips felt softer, more honest. For half a minute I let him sweep me away with unexpected caution and sincerity.

My hand shot out to grab hold of his arm and keep him from walking away. Not that it would have worked if he hadn't wanted it to. "What was that for?"

He looked too confused for it to be genuine. He was playing with me. "I wanted to."

"I thought we talked about this."

"We did." Peter shrugged. "And I told you I might have to do it again."

I narrowed my eyes at his too obvious enjoyment. "This isn't wise. We're not that sort of friends, Peter."

"We'll see." Peter shrugged and twisted his arm so he could wind his fingers just under my elbow. "I don't think I have enough information to make an accurate assessment, yet."

"I'm serious." I shouldn't make it so easy for him to wind me up, I had to figure out some way to make myself a more difficult target.

"So am I." Peter stepped closer. "What's the big deal?"

I didn't even know where to begin. Peter took advantage of my silence to extract his arm from my grasp, but instead of putting distance between us, he stepped closer. I didn't know what he was angling at with this, but I was sure I would have to step carefully. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in some bizarre experiment of Peter's. Especially if I was the subject.

"Who cares?" Peter asked. His breath tickled my ear.

"It kind of feels like I should."

"Why?"

I didn't have any answers to that question. I took two steps back and shook my head, but there was a bit of a smile struggling through, too. "Because I just can't take you seriously with day-glo orange eyes."

"That sounds an awful lot like later rather than never."

He was teasing me; playing to see how far he could push before I broke and started pushing back. He'd done it before, when I first met him. One of the first things I learned about Peter was that he would often say and do things just to see how I would react.

After all my waffling and denial, all the time I spent running around Kansas, I was still in the same place—and I was so tired of running. It didn't matter how hard I struggled, or how many more days we played these games. In the end, I'd still be asking myself the same questions.

I shifted my weight—instead of taking another step away I took a step closer, body tense. This wasn't like it had been with Edward, or even with Jacob. I knew where Peter stood. Little, playful attempts to tease kisses compounded with direct answers was enough to ensure that even I couldn't misunderstand. It was up to me — and I found that I rather preferred thinking of it that way.

It was the same question I'd asked myself weeks ago, pulled to the forefront of my mind. Now that I knew Peter better, was I willing to think of him in that way? I thought maybe I was, but that didn't mean I had to figure it out today. I could just drift. I could take my time to discover where this fresh perspective would lead me, and I wouldn't try to steer either way.

Peter kept a curious eye on me. "You look like you have something more to say."

"Just be quiet. Let me get this out."

Peter nodded.

"I don't know how to do this. I've never tried with anyone but Edward, and it's hard because things with him are really over, for good, and I'm still trying to be okay with that. I'm still working on putting together all those pieces of me that got scattered and lost in the mix."

Peter sobered in an instant, and I could tell from the way his eyes bore into mine that he understood exactly what I meant. I had no definition for us; no way to explain what we were to each other—but it was impossible to move backward with him. Every step forward was permanent.

Peter assessed me carefully before replying. "He'll get over it, you know. No wound is so deep it can never heal, and like I said; it's not your place to take responsibility for him anymore." I ran my thumb over the impression of teeth carved into my wrist, considering his words. I didn't think I believed him. As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Peter added, "Everything leaves a scar—but they're not indications of being destroyed. They mean you've recovered."

"Your scars," I said, needing a moment to collect myself and regain my fortitude. "The ones that aren't marked on your skin—have you healed from those wounds?"

I expected Peter to refuse to continue the conversation, but he surprised me. "Some still itch."

I grew bolder. "From losing Charlotte?"

"Yes."

It wasn't so strange anymore, the way Peter's honesty fueled mine. "I couldn't place it before, but everything is clearer now. It just wasn't right. It was a fairytale. I inserted myself into this story and then watched it play out in front of me. I never participated, I wouldn't have been able to if I wanted."

"Do you still love him?" Peter asked, a subtle undercurrent woven into his question.

I answered with no misdirection. "Yes. I still love him. Do you still love her?"

Peter nodded. "I hate her, too, in some ways. So I don't know how you should read into it."

I didn't want to tell him that I hated Charlotte, too.

"I could have been happy with him, you know," I said. "If I had ignored what I was feeling and just pushed it down… I could have been ignorant and happy and lived the rest of my days with the man that I love."

"You still could. You have to know that he'd take you back."

"I guess, but it's kind of irrelevant. I can't go back to the way things were. I can't go back to being a spectator in my own life. There wasn't much of me in that relationship. I just didn't know it until I left." I felt brave when I gestured between us and added, "So, no. You and I, that's not really something I can think about, at least not now—but maybe later. When I've moved on; when I'm done with this part."

A hint of a smile crossed Peter's face, and I wondered if that was all he'd really wanted to get out of me. If all he'd wanted to hear was maybe, in time, this course he'd decided on might pay off.

It could be a week, a month, years—I didn't know how long. For once there was no impending sense of a time limit. There was no reason to rush with Peter. I didn't feel like I had to run hundreds of miles before my next birthday, or something irreplaceable may be lost. In some ways, I thought a couple more years under my belt might help. It would give me the chance to catch up.

For the first time since flaming hair tumbled through the sky and blood dripped in the snow, I felt something like hope.


	16. Chapter 16

"Wake up."

The harsh words bounding through my room startled me from sleep, along with the sudden intensity of the light being flipped on. I closed my eyes and opened them again, trying to adjust to the brightness. "You have _got_ to stop doing this."

"I've been summoned," Peter said.

Immediately I was alert. I sat up and watched with wide eyes as Peter stormed through my room. He paused in front of my open closet before pulling out my suitcase. It took me a moment to remember I'd hidden my painting of the woods in there. When Peter wrenched open the top dresser drawer, my attention refocused. "Summoned by who?"

"You know who." One look at the cross set to his frown told me he wasn't so much annoyed with my question as he was about the answer he had to give.

I was up and out of bed in a flash.

"You said I'd be safe here!" The panic rising in my gut made my voice high, scratchy. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't ready. Before I knew it, I was helping Peter throw clothes in my suitcase. I'd never get used to the intensity of my fight-or-flight instinct — after all, it was something I'd only recently developed. In some ways I missed the time when instead of worrying about myself, I'd leap in front of everyone else, even if it was the worst thing to do.

"You are. They're not coming for you," Peter said. He sounded so sure. "They're here for me."

"Why?"

"I assume they want me to find you." Peter snapped his teeth together and let out a long exhale through flared nostrils. I threw some socks on top of the pile of clothes in my suitcase and Peter zipped it shut. When he spoke again, it was with a softer tone, but not by much. "They can't locate you through their normal means. That leaves me. There is no other reason."

"What's going to happen?"

"I don't know. I'm no fortune-teller. What we are going to do, however, is get you out of here. Once they're gone, we'll regroup." Peter was already half-way to the living room before I started following. I hadn't felt my heart hammer like this in months, and along with that memory, came the phantom smell of ashes.

"You knew this would happen." I spat the words at him, desperate for the accusation to do something — anything — to mitigate this disaster, but they were just words.

"Of course. Didn't you?" Peter snatched a pullover sweater from the back of the couch and tossed it at me before heading to the front hall closet to retrieve my coat. "Just in case."

I wanted to throw more digs at him, but this wasn't the time to be arguing. I was dangerously close to a complete meltdown, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. This was the absolute last thing I wanted to happen.

"What about my stuff? Oh, God, they'll smell me in the house!"

"They're not coming to the house unless we give them a reason to," Peter said, still being infuriatingly calm. He turned back to grab my arm so he could guide me toward the front door. "I'm going to them. Go west as far as you can . Drive for a day and stop. I'll come find you. If you don't hear from me in another two, keep going. If you hit the ocean, get on a boat."

The reality of the situation clicked into place the moment I set foot outside. I planted my feet on the front stoop and buried my terror, even if it was only for a moment. "You said that if they asked, you'd find me a newborn."

"And I will, but there has to be a chase."

I wasn't sure how I stopped myself from vomiting all over him.

"Hey, hey." Peter dropped my suitcase and grabbed my shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to jar me back to the problem at hand. "Save the panicking for later. Right now we have a simple problem with a straightforward solution. Just take it one step at a time."

"How could you say anything about this is easy?"

For once, Peter didn't have a retort. I stepped around him and walked to the car. The trunk popped open, and I stood, waiting until I felt the cool metal of keys press into my palm. I curled my fingers into a fist to keep from dropping them. I'd known this was coming, but I hadn't ever expected it to feel like this.

Peter reached around me to open the car door and leaned down to murmur in my ear. It was an intimate gesture, one that sent a clear message; what he had to say was only for me. "If I believed that I could do better — I'd rip myself into pieces and reassemble all those shreds. And if I could stop what's happening here, I would, but I can't."

"I don't expect that of you," I said after a moment filled with a swelling heart and twisted stomach-ache. No one had ever expressed something like that to me before.

"I know, but I thought I should tell you, anyway."

I'd become familiar with that sentiment over the past few months. There were some things that just had to be said — regardless of if they were understood or appreciated — because it was the only way to make them tangible. If I had learned that lesson back in Forks, I could have saved myself so much grief.

"You'll find me?" I relented and climbed into the car. I fumbled the keys twice.

Peter leaned through the open window and started the car for me. His mouth an inch from my ear, he whispered, "I will find you. When it is safe."

"How will you know?" I asked, turning my head as he pulled back. Suddenly the fading orange of his eyes didn't send laughter running up my spine.

"I'll know. Remember: safe." He pressed a card into my hand. "Drive."

I shoved the card in my pocket without looking at it, shifted the car to reverse, and fled. It was something that got easier with repetition. I didn't know what to do, so I followed Peter's instructions to the letter. I merged into west-bound traffic and floored it. I couldn't make myself stop until I crossed the border into Colorado with four drive-through coffees in my belly. It was impossible to catch my breath, though I spent half an hour idling in the parking lot of a rest stop trying.

With my forehead against the steering wheel I sucked in a breath through my teeth. The truth of the matter was that it was not unusual this was happening. I was on the run from psychotic vampires, again. This cycle would continue, over and over, until the day I appeased the Volturi's demands. It was my decisions that caused this; my choice to not marry Edward and stay human. It was my realization that I wanted something better for myself that lead me here, and once I was reminded of that it was easier to straighten up and start thinking about what I had to do next.

By the time I pulled back onto the highway, traffic had picked up; I felt claustrophobic going eighty-five miles an hour down the highway. The sun settled into view and I flipped the visor down, thankful for the distraction—for the light.

My thoughts ran through the cycle countless times as I kept my foot steady and started glancing at the exit ramps with longing. Twelve hours alone in the car felt like sensory deprivation. I couldn't take it much longer. I counted the mile markers and wondered just how far was far enough; I didn't think I'd ever get there. It felt like I'd been running for two years, and the finish line was always just out of sight.

Three more ramps went by before I shifted into the right lane and took the fourth. I'd never be able to cover enough distance; if they were going to catch me, they'd do just as well in Grand Junction as they would in the middle of the Pacific.

I checked into a room on the second floor of the first motel I saw a sign for. It had a walkway wrapped around the building, and I leaned against the railing, staring out over the parking lot, tracing the ground all the way out to the horizon.

The accommodations were tiny: one bed crammed in between a dresser, a table with two chairs, and a television. I yanked the curtains closed and threw my bags down; it didn't feel like there were enough locks on the door. It was almost nostalgic.

A tinny ring drew my attention, and the moment I caught sight of the name flashing on the screen, my heart leaped into my throat. It was hard to breathe, hard to swallow; I wasn't sure I'd be able to speak if I tried. The call went to voicemail and with a lack of subtlety impossible to comprehend, everything that had happened since my rude awakening became so real the Volturi might as well have been lined up in front of me.

I couldn't think of any other reason he'd call. When the phone clenched in my fist started ringing again, I answered before panic could set in any further.

"Edward?"

"Are you okay? Where are you?" Edward demanded in place of a greeting.

I leaned against the door just as my knees buckled. I slid to the floor. Now that I wasn't speeding down the highway, it was all crashing in on me. Edward worried was something I dealt with on a near day-to-day basis when I lived in Forks, but he worried so much that it was hard to take it seriously. This time, Edward was worried, and he couldn't possibly have the full picture yet.

My voice cracked. "I need help."

* * *

I'd never expected to be sitting on the edge of a queen-sized bed, watching Edward pace across a seedy motel room, two miles off the highway. The individual components had all crossed my mind at one time or another: Edward and a bed; Edward distressed; hiding in cheap motels — but they'd never combined like this into one event.

It was surreal, like I finally had all these things I used to dream about in the palm of my hand, and even if they weren't so twisted and warped, I didn't want them anymore.

"We shouldn't stay here," Edward said, but I shook my head.

We'd agreed that Edward would meet me in Grand Junction, and from the moment he arrived we'd been in a stand-off over this point. Edward wanted to leave immediately; to get on a plane and head for somewhere the Volturi couldn't reach. I refused.

"He said to give him two days. That he'd find me when it's safe." My voice was quiet and monotone. I wrapped my stress up tight as I could, afraid that if I let myself feel it, I'd break down. Edward didn't know how to deal with it, but then again, he hadn't ever been around for this part before. The closest we'd come to being on the run together was camping out in the mountains, but even then, he'd wound up fighting instead. Edward had also never seen me actually follow directions — that part was embarrassing.

Edward grumbled. "Jasper is playing this far too close to the vest."

I picked at a thread coming loose from the bedspread. "That's just the way they are. They know what they're doing."

"No, Alice is even worse." Edward shook his head and grumbled. "'When it's safe.' What does that even mean?"

I wasn't sure. I didn't think we were being followed, surely Edward would know if we were. There had to be something I was missing. Peter said he'd know. My head jerked up, and I examined Edward a little closer. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Edward finally stopped pacing. "Jasper told me the Volturi had sprung into action, that they're looking for you. He tried to convince me I should hide, but how could I?" Edward's head fell and he reached a hand up to fiddle with the hair at his nape. "How could I run away when you're in danger?"

I had an awful feeling that this was exactly what Jasper had been trying to prevent. If Edward had been told to hide, that meant the Volturi were probably looking for him, too. After all, they'd expect him to be with me. Peter was going to be so pissed as us.

"You should go," I said, sounding far surer than I was. "You should have listened to Jasper. This is a mistake."

"I will not leave you defenseless. Jasper is out of his mind if he thinks I will go along with his ridiculous plan of sending you off on your own."

"Jasper didn't send me here." I didn't bother explaining, or trying to argue with him. Once Edward got something like this in his head, there was no hope in trying to convince him otherwise, and Jasper had clearly left out some key details when explaining the situation. Instead, I reached into my pocket for the card Peter had given me. If I couldn't do anything about Edward, then maybe I could figure out what Peter had meant by it. It was a debit card; one that only worked at an ATM. I was sure that he'd meant for me to use it.

"Who did send you here, then?" Edward asked, looking unhappier by the minute.

"A friend."

Edward took an audible breath. "I thought we weren't going to lie to each other anymore."

I glanced up and let out a sigh. Edward looked upset — it was unusual for him to be so expressive, and it made me feel terrible. "I don't know what to tell you."

"What is that?" Edward asked, nodding toward my hands.

Thankful he was letting the subject drop, I sighed and held the card up so he could see. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"It looks like a bank card."

"No," I muttered. "It's a message."

If I hadn't been such a mess of conflicting emotions, I would have laughed at the sight of Edward rolling his eyes. "You sound just like Jasper."

I dropped my head into my free hand, exhausted by that statement and all the implications of it that Edward couldn't possibly know he was making.

For the second time in ten minutes, Edward did something unprecedented and dropped a subject he was curious about. "Tell me about your life. What have you been doing?"

I absolutely refused to tell Edward that I'd basically been working as an apprentice bounty hunter with an over-abundance of hobbies. "This and that. We were in Kansas, the weather was really nice. I learned to play blackjack."

"Emmett will be pleased."

"Only until I hit him in the face with a two-by-four for putting me up to riding that damn roller-coaster."

Edward laughed, and for just a moment, everything was the same as it had been, back when things between us were good. "You rode a roller-coaster?"

"Not really." I groaned. "It was more of a spinning, upside-down death trap disguised as a carnival ride."

"And how was that?"

"Awful." I felt queasy just thinking about it. "I threw up. Peter still teases me about it."

I realized my slip two whole seconds before Edward called me out on it.

"I was wondering when you'd finally mention him."

The pounding in my chest was irrational and unwarranted, but still I counted the beats, and waited for the fallout. It didn't come. "You knew."

"Only because Jasper let his guard down in his haste to get me away from the others. Honestly, I can't believe he was so sloppy to come in person. He put a lot of effort into making sure I never knew where you were, or who you were with."

"It's okay, Edward." I rushed to explain. "It was fine. A little rough at first, but we learned to get along. I was _fine._ "

"You and Jasper sure have funny definitions of 'fine'."

In the space of time it took me to draw enough breath to speak, I was livid. Edward's abuse of that term was near criminal. "Says the man who decapitated a woman right in front of me and then used that same word."

Edward ran his hand through his hair again and came to sit next to me. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see him staring at the weathered carpeting. I almost felt bad for bringing it up. Almost.

"I was trying to be strong," Edward said, his voice quiet, "so it would be easier for you to deal with."

"Well, it didn't work."

"I know that now. I've learned a lot since you left."

"Yeah." I forced myself to breathe and nodded. "Me, too."

"I'm not happy that you were put into an uncomfortable position like this, or that I was kept so far out of the loop."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I also think Jasper has some explaining to do."

Edward studied me for a moment before cracking a smile. "You're different now. I think I'd like to see you demanding those explanations."

I hung my head and muttered, "A lot of things are different now."

"Oh?" Edward sobered. "Like what?"

I should have felt more guilty, I thought, but the middle ground I'd clung to ever since leaving Forks wasn't good for me, and it wasn't fair to anyone. It was wrong to leave Edward hanging, and worse to keep him ignorant of where he stood. I decided to just come out and say it. "I met someone."

"And by someone, you mean Peter," Edward quickly deduced.

I kind of wished I could lie to him about it.

"Have you decided then?" Edward asked.

I had to look away when I told him. "Yes, I've decided."

He didn't need me to say anything else. "You're happy with him?"

"That is…" I wasn't sure how to express my feelings. Eventually, I took a page from Peter's book. "I'm content, and once all of this is over I think we could get to happy. That seems to be where it's going."

"That's all I want for you," Edward said. "I swear to you, there aren't any strings attached — but really, Bella? _Peter?_ "

"I don't know how to explain it," My voice came out lame and whiny. It was immensely frustrating, this inability to put into words what felt so vivid. "He… he steadies me. He doesn't let me wallow in meaningless guilt or demand support when I don't need it. He makes me feel okay with myself, flaws and all — and when it gets to be too much to take, he shows me that he's got scars, too."

Edward didn't reply, and after an uncomfortable span I added, "I'm not really sure what it is, but there is something, and I couldn't just not tell you."

"I hate that he sounds good for you."

"He is."

"Do you love him?" Edward asked. "The way you loved me?"

That matter needed immediate deflection. "I could never love anyone like I love you. The way I feel about you—there is nothing that could ever compare."

"But you do love him," Edward said. He sounded so sure.

It was a question I was in no way ready to consider. "I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Alright." Edward agreed.

I hadn't understood just how deep Edward's love went and realizing it now was both a relief and daunting. I hadn't ever comprehended that it was possible for him to be happy just because I was — but it was easy to accept, and even easier to reciprocate. This foundation we'd built out of the rubble of our relationship was far better than anything we'd stood on before.

In the spirit of covering all the topics that required some getting used to, I said, "Tell me about the girl."

The last thing I thought Edward would do was laugh. "You mean the date I told you about?"

"Yeah. How was it?"

"Catastrophic." Edward paused. "And I'm still not sure it was actually a date. I think Rosalie and Emmett were toying with me. They're the ones who tricked me into agreeing to it in the first place."

"It couldn't have been that bad."

"It was. 'Gentlemanly to the point of insulting' is the exact phrasing she used."

"Ouch."

"It has been pointed out to me that maybe I am a little old-fashioned." Edward shook his head with a rueful smile. "I've been thinking I should make an effort to get up with the times — to learn other ways to be respectful and demonstrate my feelings — and then, maybe, I will start looking again."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that."

Edward leaned his forehead to mine for a couple of seconds before pulling away with a smile. "Knowing you, loving you… being without you, I've learned a lot. In you I've found that there are many ways to be strong."

It was the most touching thing Edward had ever said to me. I considered my next words carefully. "That's the sort of thing that makes me happy. I like hearing that you're not giving up, that maybe breaking up was something that was best for both of us, and not just me."

I looked away from Edward, through the sliver of window behind the curtains. It hadn't felt concrete until that moment. I turned the ATM card over in my hand again. "I'm going for a walk."

Edward looked like he wanted to protest, but backed down at the look on my face. I'd gotten somewhat used to coming and going whenever I saw fit, and I wasn't about to give that up.

I headed to the ATM on auto-pilot, confident that I'd figured out this puzzle. Maybe Peter just meant for me to swipe it — it'd be more than enough for him to get an address — but another thought was crawling through my head. Peter didn't need a bank alert to find me; I had his car.

I stared at the flashing lights, the keypad, and then tried the only thing I could think of.

  1. Safe.



I wasn't surprised that it worked. After so long, I'd gotten a feel for how Peter operated.

I did a balance inquiry, ready to battle irritation over whatever obnoxious sum came out of the machine, but when the receipt printed, I found that Peter had been quite reasonable. Just a few hundred dollars — enough for a plane ticket — and in an instant I understood what Peter meant with this gesture.

He was saying that I could leave. I could run off with Edward and try to find my happy ending; we could start over now that I'd gotten my head on straight and had a better understanding of the world around me, if that's what I wanted. Peter would be right on our heels, waiting to find me newborn and red-eyed, so he could say that I'd held up my end of the bargain. It was time to choose.

I wouldn't do Peter the injustice of being fickle. There may have been little between us, just a spark, a tease of what could be — but I deserved to see it through. For all of Peter's talk about how people and vampires don't change, not really, he'd admitted just the opposite to me. He'd said he wanted it. That if he believed he could change, he would — and who was he to decide if there was any distinction? Who was he to say that change wasn't inherent, even in him?

I withdrew forty dollars. Forty dollars was a reasonable amount. It was spending money, a tease that said, 'come and get me'. Or maybe I was reading too much into it again.

I climbed the stairs back to the second floor, my hand skimming over the railing.

"Are you alright?" Edward asked as the door clicked shut behind me.

"I will be."


	17. Chapter 17

To say Peter was furious to find Edward sitting at the small table tucked into the corner of my motel room felt like an injustice to the concept of anger.

"What are you doing here?" Peter raged the moment I opened the door to him, looking for all intents and purposes, ready to rip Edward's head clean off. I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't. He stormed into the room and kicked the door closed. The force of it rattled the generic painting hung above the bed. "What sort of idiot are you? The point was to keep you two _separated_."

I'd been ready for his anger, but not the crimson shining from his eyes. I'd kind of gotten used to the orange. It made sense; Peter couldn't meet with any agent of the Volturi with evidence of his brief foray into another diet so clearly on his face. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, but it was less of an issue than I would have thought six months ago.

"If Bella is in danger, then the only place I am willing to be is with her." Edward's stance on the matter was final.

Peter shook his head and snarled. "Mere _luck_ is the only reason you are still alive. Or have you forgotten about Demetri?"

Edward argued, "If Demetri was searching for me, Jasper would have been a lot more upfront when he suggested I start running."

I wasn't about to let the two of them get into an actual argument over this — it'd be days before either of them would concede, if ever. It only took a few steps to stand between them and face Peter. "What happened?"

Peter shook his head. For a split second I caught a spark of pity in his eyes. It sent fury racing through me. "Don't look at me like that."

Peter set his jaw and nodded. "You're out of time."

"How long before they expect you to find me?" I asked after a moment, unwilling to draw the conversation out any longer than necessary. We both knew where this ended.

"A week, if you're lucky. I'm not the only one looking." Peter jerked his head toward Edward. "Although, to be fair, the rest are only looking for him. If they can't find him, they'll use you as bait."

Edward let out an audible breath behind me.

"They are not happy. I've been offered a lot of money to take care of you."

"What's the order?" Edward asked, far more comfortable with this type of question than I was.

Peter's face hardened into something terrifying. "Dead or alive."

"They asked you to kill her?!" It was incredibly startling to see Edward lose his cool so quick.

Peter didn't even flinch. "She must serve as an example of what happens to those who defy them. Aro would prefer her changed, living in servitude—but if it proves to be difficult, I'm to kill her. If you stand in my way, I'm to make it particularly memorable."

"There's something else," Edward said. He narrowed his eyes at Peter. "What aren't you telling us?"

"We'll talk about it when Jasper gets here."

"We'll talk about it _now_."

Peter sneered. "Sure, now that you've fucked up half the contingencies we had in place to keep the two of you breathing, you want to discuss things."

"Just spit it out, Peter." I was impressed with myself for growling the demand so forcefully.

Peter glanced at me before raising his chin toward Edward. "It's worse than we thought. They won't be satisfied with Bella's death. You had to have known this might be the case. Your head, your coven, they're on the line, too."

"Aro wouldn't order my execution," Edward said. I supposed his arrogance was warranted — Aro had made his invitation toward Edward and Alice clear — but still, it bothered me. Some insecurities would never disappear it seemed, and Edward's position firmly above me was something permanent.

"No, but he _would_ destroy everyone you care about, one by one, to make you compliant. They'll go after those you love, and they're starting with Bella. This is only the beginning. You've flouted their authority over and over. They may not care if Bella has to die to make their point, but you are to be captured. Alive."

I'd never thought the Volturi would consider Edward to be the guilty party. My legs gave out from under me and I sank to the creaky motel mattress. To them, I was nothing, I was human. I hadn't realized that my ineffectualness meant the blame would fall on someone else. I hadn't once thought Edward would be the one to hang for my knowledge of the supernatural world, regardless of whether or not they punished me, too.

"How do you know all of this?" I asked with an unnecessary force. I wasn't about to let them carry on this conversation over my head, as if I wasn't even here.

"I have connections in the guard."

"Who?"

Peter shook his head. "Plausible deniability."

I muttered. "You just _love_ to say that, don't you?"

Peter ignored my little jab in favor of issuing his own to Edward. "You should keep as far away from this fight as you can. Leave the Volturi to those with experience handling them."

Edward growled. "I swore I would do everything within my power to protect Bella, to keep my family safe. There is nothing you can say that would convince me to walk away."

"Just keep in mind," Peter said as he took a threatening step toward Edward. Even I flinched. "I only promised to keep _her_ out of their clutches. Not you."

Edward glared right back, and I watched with rapt attention as Edward tried to pull something useful out of Peter's head. I was betting he wouldn't be able to. Nearly five minutes went by before I'd had enough.

"As amusing as this is, maybe we should get back to the issue at hand?" I tried to come off as sarcastic, but mostly I sounded afraid.

"That's probably best." Peter turned toward me, and his angry stance relaxed. "You need to decide, now."

Terror wound its fingers in an unforgivable vice around my heart. I used to have the illusion of months. Now I had days, hours. There would never be enough time to do all I wanted to, and now there might not be enough time to do the one thing I'd promised I would. I'd known it on some level for a long time now. I couldn't leave Charlie blindsided. I kicked my feet against the floor and scraped my nails over the bedspread. The silly thought floated through my head that I never even got to buy a dress. "No."

Edward's reaction was noticeable. He looked pleased, but worried; no doubt sifting through his vast collection of knowledge, trying to figure out how to pull this off without changing me. Edward had always been very clear about his ideal version of my future.

What did surprise me was Peter. I'd expected him to be angry; to growl in my face and tell me I knew nothing about the world and how it worked, and then force me through all the logistics to make sure I understood exactly what it was I was doing. Peter did none of this. He stared at me for an uncomfortable minute and then crouched to my level. The room was so small, his back hit the table behind him if he sat back too far on his heels. My vision fixed itself right above the television to the right, and he tilted his head until I gave up trying to avoid his stare.

"You are refusing?"

This was probably a subject best talked about when we were alone, but I couldn't make myself brush it to the side for later. A tear spilled down my cheek as shame bloomed in my chest. It was bittersweet to finally find some of the perspective I'd been hunting; that it wasn't being human that made me weak, it was this constant indecision I couldn't escape. Even after all this time, after so many second and third chances, I still couldn't resign myself to the fate I'd once chased after. "I refuse. I'm not ready. There are still things I have to do."

"Do you understand what you are asking of me?" Peter's face was unreadable; his eyes bore into mine. He didn't look taken aback at all. Maybe he'd seen it coming.

"I understand." And I did. I knew exactly what I was asking him to do, and I knew that it was selfish and unfair.

"Okay," Peter said before repeating quieter to himself, "Okay."

"I'm so sorry."

Peter shook his head, and for a moment I caught something raw lingering in his eyes. I blinked, and it was gone. "Why should you be sorry?"

I whispered, "This is all my fault."

"How in the hell could any of this be your fault?"

"I should have just done what they wanted. Everyone's in danger now; I should have held up my end of the bargain."

" _Your_ end?"

I nodded. Peter looked confused, and then anger started bleeding in.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Now it all makes _perfect_ sense." Peter grabbed my chin and tilted my head up to look him in the eye again. " _You_ did not make a deal with the Volturi. Edward did. He is the one who didn't hold up his end of the agreement. _He_ is the one who will not be gifted a second chance. Not you. Killing you is Edward's punishment."

"What are you talking about?"

I had seen Peter angry. I'd seen him vicious. I'd never seen him like this. A feral growl ripped its way through the space between us, and I realized that I hadn't ever heard that from him, either. In the blink of an eye, he turned on Edward. "How dare you not explain this to her!"

Edward addressed his reply to me. "I didn't want you to worry."

"You are such an idiot." Peter seethed. "What good does protecting her do when hiding the truth does nothing but put all the weight on her shoulders? Did you think that because you would be the one to bear the consequences, she wouldn't suffer, too?"

It wasn't surprising that Edward snapped, Peter could get under anyone's skin if he put his mind to it. "All I have ever wanted was to spare her the nightmare you are so willing to subject her to!"

"Stop it." I couldn't take any more of this. "Please, just stop it."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Peter raged. What I didn't understand was how he wasn't.

"Because _someone_ ," I gave him a pointed look, "taught me to focus on what I can change instead of fixating on what I can't." It was immensely pleasurable to throw Peter's own advice right back at him.

Peter looked stunned but recovered quickly. "Right. Okay. We're going to need Jasper." He jerked to a stop and addressed Edward. "And you need to give us some time to discuss things."

Edward stood his ground. "No."

" _Get out._ "

Edward opened his mouth to argue, and I scrambled to my feet before he could say something to drive the tension even higher. "It's okay. Just give us some time to talk, all right?"

He still looked like he wanted to put up a fight, but all it took was another nod from me to see Edward out of my room. The second the door swung closed behind him, Peter rolled his shoulders and started pacing with all the subtlety of a caged lion.

Peter stalked back and forth across the confined space, his movements so rapid it made me dizzy. This was absurd. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet."

Peter didn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking."

"Will you just calm down?"

"I do not want to be calm," Peter snapped.

"You're not helping anyone acting like this." I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms, and fixed him with the most withering stare I could come up with. It didn't do any good.

"I don't care."

"Oh, for crying out loud." There was only one thing I could think of to make Peter stop acting like a crazed vampire out for blood. I marched forward, grabbed both sides of his face, and kissed him. The moment he froze, I pulled back. There was no containing my amusement at the befuddlement on his face.

It only took him a few seconds to regain his composure. "You must be joking."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought that was how we got each other to stop acting like lunatics."

"Hilarious."

I backed up and fidgeted for a moment before shoving my hands in my pockets. I supposed I should have felt more self-conscious, but kissing Peter was low on my list of things to worry about.

Peter took a lengthy breath, noticeably calmer. "You need to understand that these measures we're discussing are not because of anything you have or have not done. To them, you are a pawn — a casualty of the power struggle they've been waging with Edward and the Cullens. You are not responsible for what happens."

"It really doesn't feel that way."

"It never does." Peter turned to stare at the door. "I don't like him, and I don't like that he is here. He needs to go."

"I figured."

"He can't follow directions," Peter added, as if that justified his displeasure.

"It has nothing to do with me?" I asked, watching him carefully, trying to get an idea of how he felt.

"Of course not."

I frowned. It wasn't exactly displeasing — I didn't want Edward and Peter arguing about _anything_ — but it would have been nice if Peter could at least give me something.

"Don't make that face." Peter rolled his eyes and started pacing again. "I know where you and I stand. Why would I worry over it?"

I supposed when he put it like that, it was a better reaction that I'd hoped for. A bit of a smile broke loose, and I asked, "So, Alice is coming?"

Peter scowled, just like I knew he would. "Yes. She's probably what's slowing Jasper down."

I couldn't decide if putting Peter and Alice in the same city would dispel some of the strain of the situation, or if it would just be another powder keg thrown on an open flame. I hoped for the former; I could use some funny.

"Are you sure about this?" Peter asked with an abrupt change in demeanor. "It'll come to blows either way, so don't assume your decision is a factor there. Are you certain this is the path you want to take?"

He didn't seem to care one way or another. It was probably the only thing that could have possibly made me feel better. "I'm sure."

"May I ask why?"

Instead of answering his question, I asked one of my own. "You knew I'd never be ready, didn't you? I can't do this until I say goodbye, and I can't say goodbye until I absolutely have to."

Peter remained as steady as ever. "I've suspected for a while, now. It's not really the type of question that should be asked frivolously — words are too weak for some things."

"I promised my dad I would come home. I told him that if I was faced with a choice between doing something stupid and coming back, I'd come back. This isn't what he thought of when he asked, but it is what he meant. I… I can't break that promise." I squashed the latest round of tears begging to be set loose and confessed, "I keep thinking I should just run for Forks now. This might be my last chance."

"You can't go see your father," Peter insisted. "You're on the hook. The chase has begun. As soon as Aro realizes we're going after him, hell is going to rain down. If you go back home, you'll only lead them straight to his door."

My brain refused to process his argument. "But I could go now, before they start looking."

"We don't have _time_. They're looking for Edward, and that means they're looking in Forks. I didn't think they'd go after both of you at the same time." Peter left the rest unsaid.

I couldn't believe I'd ever characterized what I felt after Edward left me as heartbreak. This was a hundred times worse. This obscene mix of lost, trapped, and out of control, with every word I'd given Charlie hanging on the line — this was real heartbreak. I couldn't stand it. "I _promised_ _him_."

Peter crouched to my level and swiped the hair out of my face. "I know, but you can't go to him now. It's not possible."

"I've spent half my life lying to him." I didn't say it for any other reason than to give this one deep, aching regret of mine a voice. I'd spent so long deceiving Charlie: for his safety; for his own good; to avoid the things I wasn't mature enough to deal with properly. Here I was, about to do it again. "This sucks."

"To be the one who has to decide is difficult," Peter said, echoing a conversation long past. I supposed it was his way of agreeing with me.

"I'm going home." I was determined to the point of insanity. There wasn't any other option. "I _will_ make it through this alive, and I will go home to see my dad. Everything that comes after is after."

Peter nodded and tilted his head a little to the left as he thought. For once, I saw it coming.

The third time Peter kissed me was in a motel, just off the highway. His thumbs brushed my cheeks and his lips were soft. It was salty and tender, and it was real. The curve of his lips against mine for that brief interlude said more than either of us could have expressed with our voices.

"I'm not acting like a lunatic." Except that maybe I was, a little.

Peter's hands lingered before he moved to sit next to me. "You know that's not the only reason."

"What am I supposed to do?" I didn't care that I was begging him for a solution. "What if we can't pull it off?"

Peter told me anyway. "Then I guess I'll have to kill you."

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not," he agreed after a moment. "No one to hold your hand and pretend it's all going to be okay this time. You sure you can handle this?"

I pressed my lips together and considered my answer. "No, I'm not. But I will."

He allowed half of a smile to cross his face in approval.

"Do you want to call him?" Peter asked. "Your father? You can't see him, but you could talk to him for a bit."

I rested my elbows against my knees and folded my hands together, unsure of how to express my feelings on the proposal. "How do I tell him goodbye without letting him know something is wrong?"

"You don't," Peter said. "You lie. You break your heart to keep his whole for a little while longer. That's all you can do for him now."

Sometimes I really hated Peter's refusal to soften blows, but when had Peter ever coddled?

I had to tell Charlie something; it didn't matter what it was. Whatever desperate, crazy plan we came up with, I couldn't stand the thought of losing my last chance to talk to him. I needed to know he was okay before I flipped the bird at the Volturi and waited to see if I would make it out the other side alive.

"I wish you weren't right so often." I grumbled, but I was teasing a bit, too. Peter cracked a smile, and the tension eased. It took nearly a minute of concentrating on nothing but my lungs, but it was less time than I thought I'd need to remember how to breathe. "Someday I will beat the fine art of sugarcoating into your thick skull."

Peter got a look on his face I remembered from rare occasions back when we first loosened our holds on each other's throats; some crazy combination of curious and baffled. He pulled himself together within seconds. "Teach all you want, but I know you don't need such nonsense. You're not that weak."

I wondered if it was kind of messed up that I took it as the most genuine and meaningful compliment I'd ever been given.

Peter didn't give me time to respond. "Now or later?"

"I'm thinking now." I stood and shook out my arms. This wasn't the time to focus on anyone other than Charlie. "Can't say 'later' forever, right?"

"Do you want me to go?" Peter asked, in a rare showing of consideration.

"Where to?"

"Outside. You would have the illusion of privacy, and no one watching you."

"Stay." I nearly dropped my phone the moment it came out of my pocket. "I'm sick of illusions."

Peter nodded and stood to lean against the wall near the door.

When Charlie answered on the third ring, Peter angled an ear toward me, curious. All Peter knew about Charlie was that he was my father, and he liked to fish. It made me nervous enough that the dread needling me for two days had to take a backseat. I kept an eye on him all throughout the greetings and pleasantries, even though he gave nothing away other than undisguised curiosity.

"What's going on, Bella?"

My attention snapped back to Charlie. "Not much. I just wanted to call. What's been going on in Forks?" If Charlie didn't suspect something was wrong before, he certainly did after I asked that.

The abridged version of events Charlie gave me was more than I expected from him, but the quick run-down settled me enough to broach the topic we'd been avoiding ever since I left. I wasn't sure why I wanted to ask. I might not get another chance to, and that made me impatient. "What about Jacob? Is he home yet?"

"No." Charlie answered carefully. "But Billy's been talking to him. Says he's doing all right."

"Good." It was an unexpected source of relief.

"Anything new going on with you?" Charlie asked.

Edward's quiet certainty that my feelings for Peter were greater than I could admit to myself leaped to the front of my mind. Whatever this thing I felt for Peter was, I was sure it was something thing I should tell Charlie about, if only because it was the only thing I _could_ tell him.

"I met someone." Across the room, Peter stifled a chuckle. Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer to give me some space; this was embarrassing.

Charlie exhaled into the receiver, and the silence that spanned the phone line was tense. "There's just no way for me to like that."

"Sorry. I thought you'd want to know."

"I do — I mean… just be careful, Bella. I worry about you." Charlie paused. "And don't you dare do something stupid."

I closed my eyes and willed the ache in my throat away. It would do no good to let Charlie think anything was out of the ordinary. I could cry later. Charlie deserved to have some hope, and it would do me good to have a reminder of what I was fighting for. "I was thinking about coming to see you in a few weeks."

"I don't like that it sounds like you'll just be visiting." Charlie didn't sound happy.

"I just miss you is all."

"I miss you, too, Bells." When I didn't answer he asked, "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine. Tired. I've been busy."

"Alright." Charlie didn't believe me.

"Love you, Dad."

"Yeah, love you, too."

I stared at the floor long after hanging up. Then, with an entirely fake smile that wasn't fooling Peter, went about my nighttime routine. Maybe in the morning the future wouldn't look so bleak.

* * *

The crash of the door slamming into the wall was thunderous enough to startle me fully awake. By the time I opened my eyes, Alice was sitting on her knees, hovering over me. I blinked once, and she had me crushed in a hug. I glanced over Alice's shoulder to find Peter scowling as he walked through the open door, Jasper right behind him. I wasn't sure where Edward was, but I decided not to ask — he probably needed some space. Instead, I turned back to Alice and let loose a grin of my own.

"I missed you! Oh, I missed you so much!" She kissed my cheek and tightened her arms around me until I had to sputter a protest.

"I missed you too, but I don't see how suffocating me will help either of us."

Alice loosened her grip, leaned back, and brushed my hair behind my ear with a somewhat manic smile on her face. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn she was seconds away from crying.

"Jesus, Alice," Jasper started.

"Jasper, I swear, if you tell me to give her space _one more time_ you will find yourself with an _abundance_ of it while you search for all your missing extremities."

Peter snorted. "Maybe you should run. She looks like she means it."

Alice ignored them both. "Look at you. These months have been so good to you. I should have called more, right? I know. I wanted to, but Jasper kept saying not to." Alice flopped onto the bed beside me and scooted up to sit against the headboard. She huffed and shot a glare towards Peter and Jasper. "I don't know why I listened."

Jasper wasn't fazed by Alice's little rant. He'd probably heard it dozens of times by now.

I tried to think of how to reply, but in the end just said, "I really missed you."

"Not _too_ much, I'm assuming." Alice made an exaggerated nod toward Peter. I imagined the look on my face was probably the same as his — eyes narrowed with a slight frown. Where in the world had she gotten that from? Alice laughed and tapped the side of her nose.

This was not a conversation I wanted to have with Peter and Jasper in the room. The only thing that made me feel better about it was that they both looked twice as uncomfortable as I was. I guessed this was also something they'd heard before.

"I should be furious with you," Alice teased. "Taking sides with the enemy, how could you?"

I drew my lip between my teeth, trying to stifle my laughter. I'd have to get used to navigating Alice's spontaneous brand of conversation again.

"Oh my God, you're not even blushing." Alice turned and shook her head at Peter. "What did you _do_ to her?!"

I would have found the entire exchange to be hilarious if I wasn't too busy being concerned for the way Alice seemed to be unable to let go of my arm. Clearly, she'd been affected by our distance, too. I shouldn't have kept her at arm's length.

"Alice…" The giggles ruined the stern note I tried to inject into her name.

"Yes, yes, I know. None of my business, right?" She somehow managed to both smile at me and glare at Peter at the same time. "At least tell me if this means I have to start being nice to him."

"Absolutely not." I laughed. I threw my arms around her and we settled together against the headboard. "Somebody has to help me call him out when he's being obnoxious."

"So long as you have your priorities straight."

"Alice." With one word, Jasper conveyed so much.

"I know, I know." Alice huffed. She gave my arm a gentle tug and hooked her arm over my shoulders. "More important things to discuss."

"That's right," Jasper said. He gave me a small nod of acknowledgment before crossing his arms. "I hear we have a pest problem. Let's talk strategy."


	18. Chapter 18

I didn't care how much of a hypocrite it made me — I _hated_ being included in all this planning. I wasn't ever going to complain about being left out of the loop again.

The first half an hour was for catching up. Edward made his appearance shortly after, and that's when the scheming began.

It was interesting, but I felt like there was so little I could contribute. Peter and Jasper huddled in front of the door, and picked apart every little thing before spitting it back out, no matter how sensible it was. The rapid pace of it coupled with far too many bodies in too cramped a space made me anxious. Twenty minutes in Alice shot me a look so full of 'I told you so' that I couldn't believe she didn't explode with the sentiment, but she kept her mouth shut. Everyone knew I was uncomfortable, but the first person to bring it to the attention of the group was going to get it.

They fired ideas and speculation back and forth, none concrete enough to hold up. Peter brutally cut down Edward and Alice's input, particularly. I wasn't about to throw myself in the middle of it.

"We're going about this all wrong," Peter said after a lull in the chatter.

"You're right. Who's State-side?" Jasper asked.

"Jane and Alec. Heidi, too, but she's less of an issue."

"Well, it could be worse." Jasper folded his arms with a thoughtful expression.

Edward frowned. "Why them?"

For once, I knew the answer. "Because they want to arrest you. Jane and Alec. Subdue and restrain." I glanced at Peter to confirm I was correct. It seemed like being a cop's kid had its uses.

Peter smirked at Jasper. For a moment I could have sworn he was daring Jasper to refute my logic.

"I think that is one of very few assumptions we can take as fact." Jasper mulled it over for a bit. "If this is the case, we can also assume they are easing in to a larger assault. They're playing it safe for now — looking for openings."

"You're thinking we should keep our cards close? Aim for the flank?"

Jasper disagreed. "No, we should go for the head."

"You see an opening?" How in the world did Peter and Jasper learn to converse with such efficiency? I was hopelessly lost, and one glance at Edward told me he was struggling to keep up, too. Alice didn't even seem to be trying.

"We need to take out Chelsea," Jasper said. "If she dies, so do all the ties she's created. Those held to Aro against their will won't stand in our way."

Here I was again, discussing ending a life. Everything comes full-circle.

Peter nodded. "You realize that those who remain with Aro will be the most dangerous."

"Yes, but this way we only have one brother to face, rather than three, and only a handful of guards. I have trouble believing that Caius or Marcus would hold it against us. Resentment is high within the Volturi ranks."

"What?" I asked, sure I'd misunderstood.

"Caius and Marcus are not loyal to Aro. Not legitimately. Their bond was manufactured to keep them close. Marcus, at least, is aware of it. I would think Caius is as well. They are little more than slaves to Aro's whims." Jasper must have thought about this a lot.

"You know this for certain?" Peter asked, his jaw set. Determination poured through his stance, along with Jasper's. They'd done this before.

Jasper smirked. "It's nice, having a gift."

"Who else needs elimination?" Peter asked.

Edward spoke up. "Aro, obviously, and the group here. Jane will be a problem."

Jasper nodded. "Her brother will take her side, whichever it is."

"There's Renata, too," Peter said, losing me again.

Edward argued. "She might only be an issue until we're rid of Chelsea."

It took me a moment to catch back up with the conversation Peter and Jasper were having. All those times I quizzed Peter on the ins and outs of being a vampire, I should have made him write me a roster; how was I supposed to evade the Volturi when I didn't even know who half of them were? "Which one is Renata?"

Peter glanced at me. "Aro's bodyguard."

Jasper added, "And she _is_ loyal. So that's two—Chelsea and Renata—before Aro. The only thing that will make that easier is that he doesn't let Renata out of his sight. It'll have to be fast, but we can do it."

"They're all in Volterra?" Edward asked.

Peter answered that one. "Chelsea is, at least. Aro and Renata—I'd wager they're lying low, somewhere close. If it were anyone else I wouldn't have doubts, but I have to say, I'm impressed. They're quite invested in you."

"Probably more to do with diplomacy." Jasper agreed. "This will break trust with Carlisle. Aro would want to attend to that himself. He wasn't there to meet with you?"

"No. I met with Jane."

Jasper shot a look of sympathy Peter's way. "That sucks."

Peter brushed it off. "So, Volterra, first. Chelsea has priority, anyway."

"They would grant me an audience," Jasper said, pacing almost the exact path Peter had taken the day before. "Even if Aro and Renata are not there, Chelsea will be. We'd tip our hand, but I don't see any way around that."

They went off onto another tangent, which I happily ignored with the help of a magazine Alice dropped in my lap. What little I could discern from the rapid plotting was that Peter only had a few days to provide results, and the players Jasper insisted needed to be eliminated were scattered. I supposed it wouldn't have been such a sticking point if Jasper trusted anyone but himself or Peter to take care of them.

Edward crossed his arms and leaned back in the rickety chair in the corner. After consideration, he shifted his weight again, and the legs of the chair came back down to the floor. He quietly asked the same question that had been bouncing around in my head ever since I realized that Jasper was actually serious about slaughtering at least three vampires rather than risk his family being torn apart. "How do you plan on pulling this off?"

Jasper shrugged. "I figured I'd just walk in and start killing."

It seemed there was a line where it came to getting to know Jasper, and I'd just crossed it. I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing this side of him that was more battle-thirsty than kind.

"That will provoke an unnecessarily hostile response," Peter said. "There's no need to wait and see which side of the line Jane's group will come down on; she's loyal to Aro. Alec is more of an enigma, but Jane is the stronger personality. He'll take her side. We'll be stuck cleaning up after her, and by then, they'll know they're under attack."

Dozens of scenarios were presented and dismissed before I could fully understand what they were. I gave up trying, instead focusing my attention on the brewing storm surrounding Edward. I hadn't seen him in months, but I could still recognize the plot he was forming. He broke into Jasper and Peter's debate with a swift, soft declaration. "This isn't going to work. We're dividing our power too much. I'll go to Volterra."

I snapped my teeth to keep a hundred accusations to myself. It wasn't until Alice allowed a sharp exhale of protest that I realized I was holding my breath.

Jasper inclined his head and nodded. "That could work."

"A play on their expectations?" Peter asked.

"Yes. They would consider it in keeping with my character if I learned they were searching for Bella and gave up my freedom in exchange for hers. They would send me to Chelsea." Edward stood straighter as he outlined his reasoning. "They will also assume my compliance to mean that I have successfully hidden Bella, and believe they will not find her. Aro will have to pull her location from my memories. It won't matter if he's there or not, he'll have to show his face, and then you can intercept him and take him out."

"That's far from certain," Peter said, but he was definitely thinking about it. "They'll depend on me to find Bella. At least for now. You'll provide a convenient Plan B on that front, but nothing more."

"At least they'll perceive less of a threat here. They'll stop searching so hard if they expect you to have no interference from me."

"You'd have to be quick on the draw." Peter warned. I got the impression that he didn't care much whether Edward listened. "You absolutely cannot allow Aro to read your mind, cannot allow Chelsea to bind you."

"Bella is not the only one they have underestimated."

I couldn't even begin to sort out how I felt about the direction this was heading in, much less how I felt about Edward's quiet and firm declaration. I thought I might have to settle for various shades of terrified.

"There could be a problem with the timing." Peter muttered. He locked eyes with Jasper. "They don't know where Bella is, but they can certainly find _me_ easily enough. Even if they decide to use Edward, if I do not perform as they expect, they will come looking."

"Then it looks like I'm not the only one who has to be quick." Edward passed off the comment flawlessly, but I knew him well enough to hear the undercurrent of a threat. So did Jasper.

Peter considered it for another moment and then nodded. "It's a good plan. Probably the best chance we have. They'll have to contact Aro to let him know what's going on, and once they do, I'll be able to tell you where he is without getting Bella involved. We can make the first strike."

Jasper narrowed his eyes, as if pulling every iota of uncertainty out of Peter bit by bit and analyzing it. Eventually, he nodded. "I agree."

"That leaves you and me going where?" Alice asked.

I couldn't have been the only one to notice how carefully Jasper held himself as he said, "We'll stay close. Scout around a bit. See if we can't mop things up before the alarm bells start ringing."

Jasper was planning something else entirely, but since no one else called him on it, I kept my mouth shut.

"Will that work?" Edward tilted his head toward Alice. She glared at him.

"I'm flying just as blind as you are."

"What about Bella?" Edward asked. His tone made me narrow my eyes and prepare to be angry.

Peter did the same. "What about her?"

"Who's going to stay behind to keep her safe?"

I was ready for it. I had a scathing remark right on the tip of my tongue. I'd bitten it back so many times in the past, for various reasons, but this time I didn't want to argue that I should fight instead of hiding, and I wasn't secretly afraid that I couldn't be on my own. Gentlemanly to the point of insulting was exactly right; add in his over-protective streak and slapping Edward looked more appealing by the second. I took a breath, ready to let him have it, and then Peter beat me to the punch.

"She can take care of herself."

"Against vampires?" Edward asked, as if Peter had momentarily forgotten that detail.

Peter grinned, flashing his teeth. "She did fine with me."

"You would leave her defenseless?"

"No. I'm not going to leave her at all, but don't assume you know my reasons."

I almost laughed. It took far too much effort to keep it in, and a deranged sounding snort made its way out of me instead. It was Peter to a tee; always pushing buttons just to see what would happen. The most surprising part of it was that Peter's jab did something I'd have thought impossible. Edward dropped the subject of my safety and didn't bring it up again. Glancing between them, I almost thought they'd formed a tenuous respect between them.

Edward crossed his arms and stared daggers at the carpeting while conversation rose through the room once more.

"So the question is, will it work?" Peter wondered.

"Stop asking me!" Alice snapped, making a rude gesture toward Peter. "I can't see anything with you involved, you _know_ that. So either you resolve to split up or you _shut up_."

Jasper gave more consideration to Alice's outburst than Peter did. After a tense couple of minutes that seemed to stretch far longer than possible, he made up his mind. He faced Peter. "Which side do you want?"

Peter faltered for a second; just long enough for me to catch the waver in his stance. "I'll hold the line."

Jasper glanced at me and said, "I figured."

I had never known it was possible to feel flattered, mortified, and smug in such quantities, all at the same time. At least Jasper seemed to think my momentary emotional freak-out was funny.

Alice rubbed her temples with both elbows propped on her knees, as if she had a headache. "I don't know if it will work, but I think I could navigate us through once they start making decisions."

Peter grinned. "Good. Can't really ask for more, now can we?"

"God. I really can't stand you, sometimes. So, we're done here?" Alice shot a tiny, underhanded smile my way — her way of letting me know she'd seen the undercurrents of Jasper's continuing strategizing, too.

Jasper nodded. "Yes. We've got flights to book. Make it for Wednesday — the redeye — we're on a deadline, but we need to do our due-diligence before breaking out the good passports. Edward to Italy; you and me on standby. We have to be ready to act the moment they give away their position."

Alice was already tapping away at the keys on her phone and heading toward the door. She snagged the sleeve of Edward's shirt without looking and dragged him right along after her. I was a little disappointed that it seemed we wouldn't get the chance to talk about these recent developments — but after giving myself a moment of consideration, I decided that was probably for the best. Peter was right. Edward and I were terrible for each other in situations like these.

Peter cocked his head toward the door, and for the first time in hours, remained perfectly still. Nearly a minute passed before his gaze slid toward Jasper. "You're not really planning on staying here, are you?"

Jasper snorted. "Hell no. I'm going to Italy to back up Edward. The fool's going to get himself killed. We'll snag Aro and Renata on the other side of the Atlantic; it makes more sense, anyway. You just let me know when to move and handle the remnants after we've cleared out Italy."

That actually made me kind of nervous. Jasper turned toward me with a softer edge about him. "Don't worry. If there's anyone I would trust to do this job, it's Peter."

"How sweet of you. Are you going to braid my hair and read me poetry next?" Peter asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I will if you keep acting like a jackass. Ode to Peter's fiery corpse. It's in iambic pentameter. I know how you like that one."

This was kind of hilarious. I crossed my arms, shuffled back to lean against the wall, and watched.

"I'm swooning." Peter's dead-pan was fantastic when aimed elsewhere. "Now get out of here before I decide I want you all to myself and chop Alice up into teeny-tiny bits."

"Like you could even catch her." Jasper flashed a grin, then arched an eyebrow at me before turning toward the door. I made a vague attempt at a smile in return. It was an invitation I planned on taking.

* * *

I tiptoed from my room to find Jasper waiting for me, out in the night. He wasn't leaving until the morning, but there were still things to take care of in the meantime. Still, I knew he'd be there. I'd finally figured out what his angle was.

"You're kind of a bastard, you know?" I asked, stepping forward to rest my forearms on the railing, trying to sound conversational. I failed miserably.

"I know," Jasper said, unbothered.

I wasn't sure what else I wanted to say. I felt like I'd come to a greater understanding of him, and while there was still some resentment for all the ways he had manipulated me — and there were many, many more than I'd assumed — I also couldn't deny that he'd been acting in my best interests. I couldn't ignore the fact that first and foremost, he treated me as a friend and as an equal.

"Get it out." Jasper nodded in invitation.

I didn't need as much time to think about it when he put it that way. "You're such a manipulative asshole. And thank you."

Jasper didn't say he was sorry or acknowledge my thanks other than with a terse nod. I wondered if Peter got those sorts of quirks from Jasper or vice versa, or if they'd somehow developed them together.

"What gave me away?"

"No one in their right mind would send someone to Peter to get their head on straight." One look at Jasper's face told me I was right. I'd assumed I'd be a lot more angry about all of this once I got going. "You sent me to him because you knew we'd rip our baggage right out from under each other."

"He was also in a unique position to protect you."

"That's true."

"You've been good for each other," Jasper said. He elaborated at my blank look. "Peter was… Well, you know how he was. All that repressed anger and pain—imagine that for years, decades. It was killing him. It was killing you, too. I'm of the opinion that a little information withheld can sometimes be for the greater good. It's all right if you're mad at me, you were worth the gamble."

My smile was sour. I didn't want to admit he was right. "You're always talking about worth."

"I would think that would make sense to you; after all, you're pretty brutal about keeping score."

Speaking of keeping score, I had something else to ask him. "Where is she?"

Jasper gave me a look like he wasn't sure which way to play it, and I immediately rose to the offense. "I know you've kept track of her. You wouldn't let her disappear."

"Brazil."

"Did she love him?" I wondered. I thought she probably hadn't, at least not enough.

"In her way. She was a lot like you, but without the benefit of having it all blow up in her face once before."

Finally, I got to the question I wanted to ask. "Is it wrong that I hate her?"

Jasper's fingers tightened against the railing. "Maybe, but I hate her, too, so I'm in no position to judge."

I stared out into the night and let my deepest fears come spilling out. "I think you're right; I'm a lot like her. When things got hard, when I started doubting Edward, I did the same thing she did."

"That's not why you're alike," Jasper insisted. "Charlotte left because she believed Peter to be beneath her. She thought he was in the wrong and that he didn't love her enough because he couldn't be what she wanted. You left, too, but when you walked away from Edward you did it because there was an imbalance on both sides, and you made sure Edward understood that." Jasper grabbed my arm and turned me to face him, his eyes full of certainty. "It's different."

"Why can't Alice see Peter?" I asked, shrugging off Jasper's grip. Those other things, the doubts I still had simmering, they were something to be considered at another time.

A bit of a smile crossed Jasper's face. "Did he tell you I can't influence him, either? I can feel his emotions, same as anyone else's, but I can't change them."

"No, he didn't tell me that. It really is his gift, isn't it?" For the life of me I couldn't figure out why Peter was so adamant to deny it.

"I don't know what else it would be." Jasper shrugged. "Though if you were to ask Peter, he'd just say that he's better at controlling what he feels than most. He's content to pretend it doesn't exist, and believe me, it's easier to let him."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know. The best I can come up with is that he spent many years in a place where it couldn't help him, where it was worthless, and he's learned to consider it trivial."

"I think he doesn't want to depend on it," I whispered. I wasn't sure how, but I knew I was at least partially right. Then, a thought crossed my mind, and I had to laugh. "Or maybe he figured out how to do it out of sheer stubbornness."

"That sounds like Peter."

"Edward can still hear him," I said, playing along. I felt much better about this conversation now that we weren't talking about Peter so much as teasing him. "Although, he seems to have trouble with it."

"Well, even Peter can't force himself to stop thinking."

I shook my head. "I don't know. I wouldn't take that bet."

Jasper angled his face toward me with a more serious tint to his posture. "This is the first time I've ever seen Peter turn down a fight. You are aware that he's staying for you, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Don't take that lightly," Jasper advised. "He never would have done it for Charlotte."

I knew that, too.

"He never talked about her. Not once." Jasper glanced my way. "But he told you, didn't he?"

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, unsure how I wanted to respond. Jasper didn't care.

"I thought he might, at least some of it. You have a way of getting people to tell you all of their secrets."

That was yet another conversation that I wasn't ready to have. Not yet. "You are so unbearably smug right now."

Jasper shrugged. "I like being right."

"You're a good friend, Jasper. Even if you are dangerously manipulative." I smiled. "Be careful."

"Believe it or not: I've done this kind of thing before."

"You've waltzed into a castle and killed the King?" I wished I had trouble believing him.

"Well," Jasper snickered, "it wasn't a castle. I'm surprised you're okay with this."

I decided not to linger too long on the fact that he was right about that, too, and turned back toward my room. "I guess I've finally learned self-preservation. Although, Peter would probably say that it's more like I've learned what I'm willing to kill for."

"Not for yourself," Jasper said.

"No, but for those I love — there is no question." That was the long and short of it, and the end of our conversation.

"It will upset you, if I say, 'be safe', so I'm going to go with, 'good luck'."

"You don't know everything."

"No, but I am generally right." Jasper walked away before I could come up with a retort.

* * *

Later, in the dead of night with nothing but the steady hum of the cheap motel fan to break the silence, I stared at the ceiling wondering if I would ever sort out how I felt about the events of the past two days, much less the entire span of time since I'd left Forks. My existence was once again on the cusp of an irrevocable change.

I narrowed my eyes. If I let my vision blur a bit I could almost make out the form of a tree in the stucco. "I have no idea how to feel about any of this."

The mattress dipped beside me with Peter's settling weight, and I rolled to my side.

"It's going to be an unpleasant night for you, huh?" he asked. I glanced down to see his fingers creep toward my hand, just close enough to brush my skin.

"Probably."

"I think you should take some relief in it. That you're still struggling, it means you're still innocent. You haven't broken from all that you've seen." He pulled his hand back into his lap.

"Yet." I whispered.

"Yes. Yet."

"Would you still like me?" I wondered, saddened by the inevitability of it.

Peter considered his answer before speaking slowly. "I will. The way I feel about you is not contingent on how damaged you are or are not. I told you before: we're both kind of fucked up. I don't have a problem with it."

"Are you actually trying to be comforting?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "You just had to go and ruin it."

I ignored Peter's sarcasm. It was nothing but deflection. "How have you been dealing with all of this?"

Peter stilled and tilted his head toward the ceiling. "I've waited longer than you can imagine for this."

I sat up against the headboard and wrapped my arms around my bent legs. "Is this plan of yours really going to work?"

Peter scooted over to sit next to me and leaned back, his legs crossed in front of him. "It should."

"But you would do it differently." I wasn't sure how I knew, I just did.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean my way would be any better."

"What's your way?" I wondered.

"Irrelevant," Peter said, his tone dismissive. "I'm not willing to do what that would require of me."

"Oh." I wanted to ask, but couldn't think of what good it would do. I had a fair idea what Peter meant, anyway. Peter was used to being in charge, to being on the front lines; it couldn't have been easy sitting back and letting Jasper go off without him. If I thought all the waiting would kill me, it was going to drive Peter _insane._

"You should get some sleep."

"Probably."

"Do you want me to go?" Peter asked, echoing his question the night before. Offering the illusion of space.

"I'd like you to stay, actually. If you want to." I wasn't quite willing to leave Peter to his own devices when he was so wound up. I didn't really want to be left on my own, either.

Peter shifted his weight. I almost left him hanging; it was so rare I got to see him nervous.

"Just sit with me for a while?"

That was something he could do. He relaxed back against the headboard again, not so much as pretending to be occupied. His presence was comforting and nerve-racking all at the same time. From the moment I settled in to sleep, I was fidgeting.

I turned to my side again, and Peter huffed. " _What_ is the matter with you?"

"Sorry," I mumbled, irritated beyond belief for what I was about to admit. It figured. "I've gotten used to sleeping alone."

"You want me to go?"

"No," I answered, too quickly. "No, I don't want to be alone right now, but I just…" I groaned into the pillow.

"Maybe you would relax a little if you didn't spend half your energy staying balanced on the edge of the bed."

I hadn't even noticed I was doing it. I scooted back, closer to Peter, and felt him run his fingers through my loose hair, as if to tell me it was okay, that I didn't need to keep my distance.

Not twenty seconds after I'd convinced myself that I should probably give up on sleeping at all, Peter spoke.

"It happened on my twenty-fifth birthday," Peter said quietly. "Back then, birthdays weren't a big deal. There were bigger concerns; a birthday was meaningless. I'd gone into town, and that's the last thing I remember before I died.

"You think that because we're vampires — because we can fight where you are ineffectual — that we are strong in all the ways you can think of. You think nothing weighs on us. It's true that some enjoy the brutality, but you could say the same of many humans. Do you not have serial killers in the human world? Sadists? This is not a trait exclusive to vampires. All we are is what we were, frozen. Every vampire walked among your kind at one point, and our society mirrors yours. We have consciences, skeletons, and demons to fight. Same as you."

My muscles were tense and coiled from trying to stay as still as possible and keep my breaths even. I didn't know if Peter thought I'd fallen asleep, I couldn't imagine he'd make such a mistake — but maybe the illusion made it easier for him.

"The first months were a blur. I don't remember much. Everything was this spiral of blood and destruction, and none of us could escape. The only thing that ever changed was when I met Jasper, and later, when I found Charlotte.

"She knew what I was when she saw me. She always was smart. I'd like to say that her intellect drew me, or her looks — but in that kind of life there's no such thing as appreciative attraction. The only thing I felt was lust — for her blood, for her. She was this sweet, young thing, and I wanted her. So, I took her." Peter's recollection paused, and I felt the bedding shift as he moved. "I know you're awake."

I rolled onto my back and gave him an embarrassed smile. Peter didn't react; he just kept talking. "The rule was that if you changed them, they were your responsibility. Somewhere along the line, responsibility turned to love.

"Then, somewhere else along that line, I looked down and suddenly I wasn't okay with all the blood on my hands. I had a moment, one fleeting instant where I had to decide how to react, and I made a terrible choice. More death can't wash away regret, no matter how fleeting that regret was. I didn't understand that, of course, just steeped myself in as much violence and gore as I could find until there was so much that it tuned everything else out. Looking back on it, I know that was the beginning of the end of anything worthwhile I had with Charlotte. It's funny, because the only thing that could snap me out of it was the possibility of her dying.

"This isn't upsetting you?" he asked.

That was a complicated question. "No, it is, but I still want to hear it."

Apparently, that was good enough for Peter. He gave me almost a full minute to collect myself and continued. "You have to understand the environment we were in, it makes you do desperate things. When we decided to flee, there wasn't any other option we could see — we _had_ to. It wasn't until much later that my head cleared enough to consider that we should have taken Jasper with us, no matter how much of a monster he'd turned into. He was my friend, and I'd left him behind.

"Charlotte didn't agree. She knew the right thing to do, sure as I did, but she wanted nothing to do with Maria. That included Jasper. When I left to get him, I think it broke her a little; she couldn't understand why I was choosing Jasper over her."

I actually knew a lot of this already, or had pieced parts together from the little hints Peter liked to drop all over the place, but there was something different about hearing the full story, in order, in his own words. I'd reached the point where I felt like I knew all I needed to, anyway. What mattered about this moment was that Peter was sharing it. I sat up a little, observed him as he watched the wall across the room like it was playing everything out before him; like he was simply describing the events.

"It was on our way back to Charlotte, that Jasper and I made our plan. The act of stealing away Maria's right hand — she would come after us for it. We could have taken her down, maybe, but the odds were too slim, even for us. Really, there was only one solution. Jasper had befriended a Volturi guard during the clean-ups, a vampire almost as twisted and violent as he was, and it was with this in mind that we sought to manipulate some protection for ourselves.

"It was too sweet a deal for them to pass up. They got me, and if they played their cards right, Jasper, later. It ensured that they treated me well, that they accepted me. I had no value to them, then. The only thing I was good for was as a proxy to woo Jasper through. They figured they were playing us, but in reality they did everything we expected them to. It wasn't until much later that I developed my skill-set and became a commodity on my own."

"That sounds… kind of tragic." The words slipped out, and for a moment I panicked that whatever had caused Peter to open up so much would be slammed shut with the interruption, but he only let out an amused huff and nodded.

"Tragic would be one way to put it."

I felt emboldened. "What happened next?"

"Charlotte tried to stay. She tried to understand what I'd done, but she couldn't. She left, and I was alone, until the day Jasper called to tell me about you."

"No one else knew what happened?"

"My affiliation was something Jasper and I kept to ourselves. There was no need to involve anyone else. The only other person who knew was Alice, and only because it's impossible for Jasper to keep secrets from her." Peter scowled.

"Because the more people who knew, the more who might suspect all was not as it seemed."

Peter nodded, a frown still on his face. "Yes."

I swallowed back the trepidation that surfaced every time I considered bold gestures, and inched my hand close enough to run my fingers over his. "That sounds very lonely."

Peter stared at the mattress between us for a moment before reaching out a little, too. "It was. I never — I didn't understand how much I was holding on to until you came along and asked why I was so angry.

"I have injected my problems into your past, made things about me when they weren't — but this is different. That's not what I'm doing this time. For longer than you can comprehend, I have been nothing more than a tool. If not Maria, the Volturi — even Jasper, to an extent, though he doesn't mean it that way and I don't take it like that. This is what I've been waiting for, to break it all down, to start over. I'm sick of living in chains. That's why this is so personal."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "Why now?"

Peter laid still for five traitorous beats of my heart before shifting to his side and answering. "I heard you talking to Jasper, and he's right. Someone should know who I am — what makes me — and I want that someone to be you."

"Oh." There wasn't really anything else I could come up with to say.

"Don't make it awkward."

Of course, I had to do just that. "I'm scared of heights. Not like, normal scared of heights where you're just uncomfortable with them to the point of avoidance. Like, have a panic attack, barf all over the place, scream for my mommy-scared of heights."

Peter looked at me like I was crazy.

"You probably already knew that."

"I did get a demonstration, once." Peter smirked, and I felt better seeing it.

It felt natural, the way I twisted and leaned toward him to press my lips against his. Peter's fingers traced along the length of my spine, and within a minute I was drowning. It was overwhelming, peaceful, and exhilarating in rapid turns. All I could think about was Peter, and the way the cheap motel sheets tangled around my legs as I moved closer.

I whispered. "You know, I think this is exactly where I want to be right now."

"Then you obviously need therapy."

"Maybe." Instead of pursuing the bubbling intimacy between us, I pressed my face to Peter's chest and breathed deep. "Thank you, for staying."

Peter remained silent for what felt like an hour. Finally, he tilted his head closer to mine and in an echo of conversations long past muttered, "Anytime."

I fell asleep to Peter's fingers curling around mine, and the world felt a little better. I knew what was coming, and I knew what Peter would do about it. I knew what he was capable of and why he was fighting. I knew why I was fighting. So, in the morning, when I stood out on the walkway watching the sunrise, I couldn't quite convince myself to savor it. I didn't believe it would be my last.


	19. Chapter 19

Our first day alone was quiet. By the second, I understood how silence could make Peter so tense. The calm was unnerving. We were sitting ducks, depending on everyone else to do their part and do it well. We were helpless. We both hated it.

I had almost forgotten how much I despised waiting. It felt like everything was going wrong, unsure if it was intuition, cynicism, or cabin-fever that made me think so.

Pacing was Peter's coping method of choice unless he was glued to his computer. That and grumbling under his breath about anything and everything that had ever pissed him off. I'd tried to distract him a few times, but nothing worked for any reasonable amount of time.

Edward's absence was noticeable: a void spun just beyond my reach. He'd been here just yesterday. We reached a tentative middle ground, but all was not well, and the loose thread taunted me. A familiar ache bloomed in my heart alongside a thrill for the unknown future ahead.

"If this doesn't work out the way we want it to, what will happen to Charlotte? Will she be safe?" I wondered what Peter's take was on this concept of our lingering responsibilities to past lovers.

"She should be," Peter said, weighing his words. His leg bounced in a rapid staccato under the table. "I'm starting to think maybe I don't need to make that a priority. It's… it's like you and Edward. That's not my place anymore. I don't have any right to interfere with her life. I made sure she knows what could be coming, but that's it."

He spoke with finality. It didn't bother him to talk about Charlotte as much as it used to. I thought of Edward, and how much had changed between us, how much easier it was to talk to him, and decided that closure simply came from strange places.

"That sounds reasonable." I frowned at the clock and suppressed my third yawn in as many minutes.

Peter's phone rang. He sprang into action, more anxious than even I was, only to deflate instantly. If the look on his face was anything to go on, I had a fair idea of who was calling. I held my breath.

He answered without a word, listened, and then frowned. "No, I have her at hand. It's only a matter of retrieval."

My lungs burned, and I clenched my fingers together as hard as I could.

"That's acceptable. I'll send you the details once I'm ready to go."

The rest of Peter's conversation was short; it comprised only a few more words on his part. It was the closest to panic that I'd ever seen him, and even still, he was more angry than anything else. He threw his phone to the table. It bounced and skidded right to the edge.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad." I could see the gears turning in his head. His phone chirped once, then again and again in rapid bursts. Peter reached over to grab it and read through the messages, tapping out a few of his own. "We have to take care of this ourselves."

" _What?!_ " It was worse than my most terrifying speculations.

"Edward moved too soon. I don't know what he was thinking; maybe he saw an opportunity to get Chelsea out of the picture and went for it. They know they're under attack and Aro's demanding that I bring you to him. Now."

"They still think you're in their pocket?" I asked. I wasn't so sure that was the case, but then again, I was aware of how close Jasper and Peter were and that whichever side one of them was on, the other wasn't far. They were cunning — it wouldn't surprise me if they played their parts well enough that Aro didn't realize their first loyalties were to each other.

"Probably." Peter shrugged. Another message chirped through. "I'm certain enough. Jasper and Alice are, too. It could be useful to draw ourselves into the thick of things." Peter gestured between the two of us. "Jasper can turn around; Alice will stay on course to help Edward.

"We?" I asked. I had a nasty feeling about this.

"Yes, we." Peter frowned, a hard look in his eye and a stiff jaw. "They would know something was wrong if I came without you."

"What's stopping them from just killing me?" I hadn't meant to shriek, but that's how it came out.

Peter snapped his attention back to the glowing screen of his monitor still sitting on the table, before closing the lid. "I have a plan."

"Okay." I sat on the edge of the bed and forced myself to calm down. "Okay, what's the plan?"

Peter kept silent. That meant I wasn't going to like it.

"Spit it out."

"I trust you have no objection to being used for bait." He refused to elaborate further. That meant that I _really_ wasn't going to like it.

I scowled. "Fine. Now what? Obviously, we have to go."

"Aro will have the whole brigade with him. They're expecting you, and they'll be cautious since they can't know for sure who's against them." Peter was little more than talking to himself. "Jasper needs twelve hours. We'll herd them in his direction. Cut it down to ten or eleven."

I knew what Peter wasn't saying. "We're leaving now, then?"

Peter didn't answer, only maintained his steady frown and even gaze. I got my coat.

"Do you remember what I said, before? About how sometimes it's just as hard to be the one to act?"

My gaze snapped to Peter's face, and the curling dread in my stomach quickened in an instant. "Yes."

My answer seemed to reassure him, to commit him to whatever scheme he'd come up with. "Then let's go. Guess we can't let Jasper have all the fun."

* * *

The night was dark and cold, with just enough humidity in the air to make every breath feel heavy.

"Look afraid," he had said when we left Grand Junction, and it was with no effort that I shuddered and replied, "No problem."

Peter said he could handle the Volturi, and I believed him, especially if he took them by surprise. That didn't make me any less nervous. It was a good thing, according to Peter: I had no poker face. The more anxious I was, the more believable I'd be. I wasn't sure I liked that part of his plan much. He was purposefully staying tense and short — ratcheting up the uncomfortable atmosphere of the car higher and higher the closer we got to our destination. I doubted even Jasper could be so effective.

I wanted to ask where we were, exactly, but just like every other thing I'd thought to say over the course of the past few hours, the words died on my lips. The last I noticed, we'd crossed the border into Iowa, and that had been hours ago. We pulled off the highway onto a service drive, and then down long, winding dirt roads with nothing but trees as far as the eyes could see on either side.

Abruptly, the car came to a stop. I jerked my head forward and found Jasper illuminated in the headlights.

Peter got out of the car. I opened my door so I could hear better, but stayed where I was. Jasper took a few long strides closer to my side.

"They've arrived at your meeting point. Aro, Renata, and Jane are inside. Alec and Heidi outside—I'll take care of them on my way in."

"Better than we expected. Not bad." Peter sounded off, nervous. "I'll walk in the front, you circle around?"

Jasper agreed. "I'll do what damage I can, fast. Three to two isn't terrible: we've managed with worse."

"I'll make a scene," Peter said. "They'll be distracted. Take care of Alec and Heidi, and then we'll handle the rest together."

Jasper narrowed his eyes, took a step forward. He scrutinized Peter with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. "Where's your head at, Peter? Maybe Bella should come with me. We'll still have the jump on them."

"My head's in the game." Peter matched Jasper's glare, unwilling to so much as blink. "Just be ready to act fast. We'll be on a clock. And eat on the way."

Jasper's gaze shifted over Peter's shoulder—he stared at me until I whispered, "It's okay."

In the next moment, Jasper had vanished.

"I need you afraid," Peter said once he climbed back into the car. He kept his eyes forward and shifted to drive. "So, let's just get this out of the way now: I'm sorry for what's about to happen. I just don't see any other way out of this."

This quiet and repentant Peter was nothing short of terrifying. I mulled over his apology until the next mile marker swept by; a dozen scenarios wrestled for my attention. I desperately ignored each one. "I trust you."

So soft, I wasn't sure I heard it at all, Peter breathed. "Just makes it worse."

* * *

The tires howled as Peter pulled into an abandoned lot and slammed on the brakes. What must have been, at one point, a factory loomed in the distance. Neon graffiti covered the façade — sharp angles drawn up, over, and around each other with a mesmerizing life of their own.

Anxiety froze me to my seat even after Peter opened his door, circled the car, and stood before me. His face was grim as he stared over my shoulder, out the other window, hard and calculating. I could pinpoint the moment his resolve solidified. He grabbed my arm, rough, and yanked me into the chilly night. I should have worn my coat.

My back hit his chest so hard the wind rushed from my lungs. I'd never been afraid of him before, but at that moment I was dangling inches away. "What are you doing?!"

"What I have to," Peter said, his breath tickling my ear. "What the rest of them are afraid to do."

He moved his mouth lower, pressed his lips just behind my ear, then lower still. I gulped, and held the breath in—kept still as I could, hoping time would freeze along with me. He wouldn't —

Who was I kidding, of course he would — and I trembled from my toes all the way up to my scalp as I realized he was going to. I clenched my teeth half a second before Peter's went tearing through my neck.

Peter sank to the ground in time with my legs giving out beneath me. The ground wavered. Years passed before he released his grip and let me crash to the asphalt. My knees and hands throbbed. I choked between coughs: wet, thick. The gritty lot under me glistened. I collapsed.

Stuttered breaths screamed in my lungs. The world crumbled around me. I convulsed and took ragged gasps. This moment was all I'd ever feared come to pass.

"It really is too bad," he muttered. "You deserve better."

I couldn't answer, couldn't think of the right words to say. It wasn't so terrible, this paralysis of my tongue, and my silence didn't matter, anyway. He always understood the things I couldn't voice.

I'd once thought life was an endless roller-coaster of anxiety and loss, interspersed with shimmers of the things that made such pain worth it. Love, warmth, Edward… those were the only things that shone through such black. I'd thought life was drowning until there was nothing left of me, but that was wrong. This path was finite — it had an end — and there was more out there than I'd ever imagined.

His shadow blanketed me, and I remembered how he'd sworn it wouldn't turn out like the last time, long ago, in a different life. He'd told me that the surface bends and shifts, just as sure as we all remain static in our core. It was much the same as what he told me now, but how could he be sure? He's the one who taught me that nothing is for certain.

Peter's fingers trailed down the curve of my cheek in a gesture far more caring than expected. Quieter than before, he muttered, "Let's go. Play your part. Don't give up, okay?"

"There's blood in the snow." Was it important for Peter to know that? It felt like it was… Was I bleeding? "Everyone will be hungry. Why are we doing this again?"

My vision swam, and the world tilted sideways. Peter scooped me into his arms and made his way to the factory. A crash splintered the surrounding air — the doors, I guessed — and I went tumbling to the floor. I cracked an eye open; there was so much dirt under my nails.

Three figures stood opposite Peter, with me in the middle. One yawned and stretched their arms far over their head. They seemed relaxed. Casual. Was that the point of this?

"How thorough," Jane said. I'd never be able to forget her voice, not even half-way to death. She didn't sound at all upset. "You didn't want to keep her?"

My lids fluttered and closed. Everything was so blurry.

"You think I want responsibility for that pathetic, annoying creature?" Peter sneered.

"I just know you've been lonely is all. Looks like it's too late, anyway. You always snack too much."

"I'm not that lonely. I was hoping to run into Edward before she ran out, though; too bad, huh?"

 _Lying_ , I told myself over and over. Peter was playing a role. Making a scene. It was the only thought with the potential to keep me sane, to keep me from disintegrating into the floor. I pushed my weight onto my hands in some bizarre portrayal of a push-up before collapsing again. "—all such _liars_."

"They're cute like this." Jane chuckled. Something snagged in my hair. "Don't you think?"

"Not really," Peter said. "I'm surprised they sent you. What's so special about this one that they relegated you to courier?"

Jane took a disturbingly long time to answer. My breaths grew shallow as my heart pounded away. I didn't know it was possible to fall asleep in such pain. "I volunteered. Call it… curiosity."

"And you?" Peter asked.

Jane hissed something about respect before a quiet, sharp voice answered. "I can see it was unnecessary. You've performed admirably, as always." Aro. I hated him more than I could comprehend.

"Did you expect anything less?"

A finger brushed over my cheek. "No. I suppose not. Such a shame; silent as ever."

"Guess I should finish her off then. You don't need anything else from me?"

"Not at the moment, no." I could _hear_ the smirk in Aro's voice. "We'll leave you to it."

"I charge extra for disposal, you know."

A harsh fear gripped me tight, strangled me, cut off what little air I had left. Peter wouldn't really let me die on the floor, would he? No. I had to believe that he wouldn't. Still, my eyelids only fluttered for seconds. That thunderous heartbeat of mine wavered and slowed. It didn't feel like I needed to breathe, not really… A heavy fog filled the air; my clenched teeth and tensed muscles relaxed in an instant. For a moment, I forgot I was dying.

"Now, now, what do we have here?" Jasper asked, his drawl thick.

It didn't matter that my eyes were closed, that I was swimming in a vast sea of black, frantically trying to keep in mind which way was up. I knew Peter smiled.

"What a surprise. I expected you'd be in mourning with the rest of your coven. My condolences for the loss of your brother, and his plaything," Aro said, not sounding sorry at all.

"Well, you see, that's a bit of a problem. I've become rather attached to the girl, and she doesn't seem all that lost, yet." Jasper said his next words carefully. "Whoever bit her will _pay_. Ounce for ounce."

"So, you're the one pulling the strings."

"You could say that. Thanks for splitting up, didn't think you'd be so nice."

"Traitor." Jane hissed. A brief silence passed, and then her scream pierced my eardrums for ten full seconds. I thought I might have a headache, somewhere in the mess.

"Tsk, tsk," Jasper said, admonishment heavy. "You ought to think twice about letting your gift do the talking. It is a foolish thing to depend on, or have you forgotten _my_ gift? Sorry about your brother, by the way. And your friend. Plus those fools in Italy my wife _and_ _Edward_ are taking care of. Huh, seems I have a lot more to apologize for than you do."

Aro's snarl catapulted through the air, his composure lost. "You will _burn_ for this."

Jasper laughed. "I don't know if you want to talk so much shit. Don't get me wrong, I didn't think ripping your throat out would be _easy_ , but did you have to make it such a pain in my ass? I wasted half my miles flying all over the damn place. No matter. You're here, I'm here. It's been _so_ long since I've gotten to let loose. I'd forgotten how much fun it can be."

I pried my eyes open long enough to see that Jasper looked positively _gleeful_. He really was enjoying this too much. Six months ago his attitude would have made me vomit. I vomited anyway, but for a completely different reason.

"Now what do you say we settle this?" Jasper chuckled, and Jane's howl jolted me awake for a split-second before drowsiness set in again.

A crash bounded through the room, never ending; it repeated back, over and over. Commotion. Pain. This dying thing, it was like riding a bike.

I wondered if Jacob had ever made it back home, if Billy was still worried about him, and about what kind of dress Rosalie thought I would buy. I thought about Renee and how I should have called her more often, no matter how awkward talking to her had become; of Forks and La Push, and all the people I'd met there.

I thought of Bree… felt myself wind around my memories of her and share a sympathetic moment with the girl who had changed everything for me. I'd always thought she deserved so much better — and didn't I, too?

There was Charlie, waiting for me to come home. Nothing could ever make up for leaving him hanging. It wasn't fair to place blame, but I was cold and my neck _hurt_ and with the stars swimming beneath my eyelids I couldn't think of anything better to do. And then there was Peter. Never making promises. Giving no assurances. Peter, who I trusted more than anyone else, even now; he said not to give up. He kept secrets, but he never told me lies. Peter wouldn't let me die here on the floor. _He wouldn't._

Someone burned. Who it was, I couldn't tell: more ashes, floating in the wind.

I opened my eyes long enough to make out Jasper and Peter. A glimpse of a furious Jane being slammed through the destroyed wall catapulted through my vision. She slid and twisted, rounding on Peter with her fingers curled into fists before my lids slid closed again. Concentration went only so far as to let me make out the sounds of a struggle, then pounding on my chest and hands gripping my face.

Jasper was shouting, somewhere in the distance.

"Come on! _Breathe!_ "

Air filled my lungs without instruction. The world exploded into a shower of sparks, and then it was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

When I woke up, it was to a pounding head and bright colors that wouldn't come into focus. There was weight pressing into my side and worry in the air. Sharp pain, beeps, and needle pricks.

When I woke up, it was to memories I wished I could erase; like it had all been a dream. Moment by moment consciousness came with the price of betrayal, and buried somewhere in the haze of red there was a growl and rage, and Peter. It was so foggy...

When I woke up, I wasn't sure which dream I was waking from. I was in the hospital again, trapped between four sterile, white walls. My head was fuzzy. Everything further than the tips of my fingers looked blurry. I blinked.

There were flowers on my nightstand. Not two feet from the flowers, Peter lounged in a chair, boots kicked up on my mattress so close to my feet I could wiggle my toes and touch the soles. Carlisle glared at him from the other side of the bed, and Peter glared straight back — neither of them moving so much as a centimeter.

"Peter." His name came out in a rasp, the syllables crumpled together without definition. I was already drifting off again. "Peter, get your feet off the damn bed. Isn't it enough you ripped my throat out?"

The surrounding room growled—the hum lulled me back to sleep.

* * *

Sun streamed through the window, the light bright and distracting. The curtains were drawn back by a cheerful nurse wearing bubble-gum pink scrubs with hippos on them as soon as she realized I'd been awake for more than an hour and was feeling more antsy than tired. Some semblance of a meal was placed in front of me moments later, and it was in between glaring at the shriveled greens curled up in one corner of the tray and poking at the over-set cherry gelatin that Edward walked in.

I nearly lurched straight out of the bed trying to get to him. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine," Edward said. He rushed closer, keeping me from disconnecting everything I was attached to. "I'm more worried about you. Every time I turn around, you're bleeding to death."

Edward hadn't asked for an explanation, but I felt compelled to give him one, anyway. "We didn't plan that part."

Or, at least, I hadn't. In retrospect, Peter had to have been planning it for some time.

"I nearly killed him," Edward said, glancing up at the ceiling. A grim chuckle escaped him. "Peter, I mean. It's not a fight I'd win normally, I think. I only stood a chance because he was so worried about you. In the end, that was all that could calm me down enough to listen to reason. Talk about irony."

"I'm not…" I wasn't sure how to say it. "There… there weren't any complications?"

"No, no complications." Edward reached back and closed the door, before he finally stopped hovering and took a seat. "Carlisle said even before the transfusion there was no danger of turning. There was so little venom in your system it wouldn't have made a difference. I am… I am impressed, with Peter's control."

It was extraordinary, how I was having this conversation with Edward, _twice_. "Do you know where he went? He's been here whenever I woke up before."

Edward's face remained carefully blank when he answered. "Jasper convinced him to leave for a while, said they have a score to settle. He's going to be furious you woke up as soon as he left." At that, Edward grinned. "Nice job."

That was a bit worrisome, but I was confident neither Peter nor Jasper would suffer any permanent harm. Instead, my mind snagged on Peter's certain frustration. The giggle that burst from me ached, but I couldn't hold it in. "Isn't it amazing how he infuriates everyone? Even Carlisle was glaring at him earlier."

"How did he ever manage that?" Edward asked, baffled.

"He had his feet on my bed. He was just sitting there, feet propped up, stuck in an endless staring contest with Carlisle. I'm so bummed I fell right back asleep and missed the end of it."

"Don't worry," Edward said. "I'm sure we'll eventually get a repeat performance."

We watched each other for a moment, waiting to see who would break first. It was me. "What happened in Volterra?"

Edward glanced away. "I saw a chance, and I took it. I didn't realize Jasper and Alice were so good at evading my gift. I should have thought it through, instead of raging forward, but..."

"Whatever happened to me not being the only one they'd underestimated?"

"I still achieved my goal — Aro did not read me, and Chelsea did not bind me." I could have sworn Edward was smug over it. "I held up my end, even if I wound up needing some help."

The quiet that descended on us was awkward, charged. We had something to finalize between us, but I couldn't figure out how to take that step. My head was foggy, and this conversation wasn't the one I wanted to be having right now.

"About what Peter told you at the motel—"

"I forgive you," I said, quick as I could cut him off. There was no sense in hashing it out; Edward and I wouldn't see eye to eye on this.

"Okay." Fortunately, Edward let it drop. "I'll only ask once more, and then I promise I'll heed your word; is this what you really want, Bella?"

I didn't need nearly as much time to think about it as I used to. "Yeah."

Edward smiled and stood. Almost as an afterthought, he leaned down to kiss my forehead. He spoke so quietly I strained to make out the words, but I didn't think he meant them to pass me by. "I love you, and I swear I'll never stop—but I'll also strive to love you better, the way you want to be loved."

"Me, too, Edward." I inched my hand closer and grabbed hold of his. "Me, too."

Edward bowed his head, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth as he backed away. He didn't let go of my hand until we were too far apart to reach.

* * *

Peter barged in with all the subtlety of a hurricane. He loomed over me, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. "The next time I do that, it's for real. Do you understand?"

I waited for the surprise and gratitude for his declaration to come, but they never did. It took me a few minutes of calm to pinpoint why. Peter and I, we didn't have unrealistic expectations of each other, and right from the beginning I'd trusted that if it came down to it, he wouldn't have any qualms with changing me. He'd told me so.

When it became obvious I wasn't going to start screaming and throwing things, Peter relaxed. "You ok?"

"I think probably very no and very sort of, all at the same time," I said.

"They said you were doing all right." Peter grabbed my chart and flipped through the pages.

"For?" I prodded. Peter didn't get it. "They say I'm doing all right for… a traumatic blood loss patient? That's not a high bar."

"Oh." Peter put the clipboard down and sat next to me.

"What happened?"

"Did you know humans can lose up to thirty percent of their blood volume without requiring a transfusion? You lost a bit more; thirty-five? Forty? Somewhere in there." Peter cringed. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"I'm…" I couldn't get my thoughts to assimilate into anything resembling sense. It took a moment to parse the hazy memories. "You didn't…"

"What?" Peter asked, offended. "Kill you? Change you?"

I couldn't be sure if Peter was serious or not, but that was irrelevant. "It would have worked. It was… it was an option, and I know you thought about it."

Peter took a minute to respond. "I'll admit I considered it: it wasn't a viable course of action. After everything, do you still think so little of me? You assumed I wouldn't endeavor to preserve your life when that's what you wanted?"

"I thought once you'd bitten…" I trailed off, remembering that I of all people should know that this didn't work in such absolutes. This wasn't the first time I'd been bitten and lived as a human. Still, there was something more important on my mind. How many times was I going to have to ask this question? "Why didn't you just let the venom do its work?"

"It's not like it was any harder; either way I would have had to stop before you died." Peter took a breath. "They had to think it was done. If they thought you might be changed, they never would have let their guard down. They had to think I was on their side, even after Jasper showed up. We needed that one second of distraction, to get Renata."

He shifted his weight, some comical echo of how an uncomfortable human might fidget, then abruptly stood and gestured for me to scoot over. Once I'd made some room, Peter laid on his back next to me and crossed his arms behind his head, careful not to jostle. He arched his back as if he were stretching. We stared at the ceiling together for a few quiet minutes. Eventually, Peter found what he was looking for.

"I thought about it. I thought about it a lot — before, during, after — but I couldn't let it go down like that. You made a promise. You told your father that you would come back home. I wasn't going to be the reason you couldn't follow through."

And that was the moment I'd been waiting for. That was when I knew for sure.

"Yep. That ought to do it. That'll be the end of it, right there, the thing that finally did me in."

"What? What thing?" Confusing Peter would never stop amusing me.

"The thing that finally made me fall."

The corner of Peter's lip twitched when he caught my meaning. "Well, don't sound so horrified."

I sighed and leaned back against my pillows. "I'm so screwed."

"So, to take a page out of your book, what exactly does this mean?" Peter asked. One look at him told me all I needed to know. Peter knew _exactly_ what this meant; he was just determined to make me say it. His gaze focused on the ceiling above us, a smile playing at his lips.

"Apparently, I have more warm, squishy feelings for you than I thought." I scowled; it was more fun to pretend to be put out over it.

"This is strange for me," Peter confessed. "With Charlotte, everything was a given. We loved each other. We would always be together. And then, we weren't. I will love her for as long as I walk in this world. I couldn't stop if I tried to, and to be honest, I don't try all that hard. She's part of who I am — but I think you understand what that's like. I cut out my heart and let it burn because that's what I had to do, and I never lied to myself about the consequences — but that love, it never left me. From that moment forward, I was certain that anything beyond a vague hope for a different future was just a fairy-tale. I don't think like that anymore, not since meeting you."

His words reached into my heart and grabbed hold with every bit of tenacity he was capable of. If I hadn't been sure before, I was now. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"I think we just had a healthy and productive conversation about our feelings." The remark was full of mirth.

"We actually seem to do that a lot. At least, recently."

"I suppose." Peter snorted, relaxing some now that the harder part was over and we could settle into our usual banter. "I'll deny it until the end of my days."

I settled back as well. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Peter glanced at me. "Just don't tell Jasper."

The grin that crossed my face was something entirely new, an expression I couldn't have said I'd made before, but the teasing felt so good. "And what are you going to give me in return?"

Peter snorted. "I won't tell Alice which lovely shirts you used as smocks."

"Oh, that is just _mean_."

"Anything to keep Jasper from getting a taste for meddling."

That was a terrifying thought. "Deal."

"I am sorry, you know," Peter said, "for not giving you more of a heads-up, for making it seem like I wasn't going to try to keep you alive. It's just… well, I didn't know if I could follow through if I had to deal with you being all understanding about it. Plus, you're kind of a terrible actress."

I supposed I could be angry with him over it, but honestly, I should have seen it coming. "Whatever. You're such a dick sometimes, but I forgive you."

"Well, thanks, I guess." I might have been imagining the undercurrent of relief in his voice. Then again, maybe not.

"What do they mean?" I asked, nodding toward the flowers.

"They're just daffodils."

I made sure to show just how much I didn't believe him with an arched eyebrow and expectant gaze. Those flowers weren't just flowers, not a chance. Everything had a message.

Peter made a good attempt, but folded quickly. "Regard, or rebirth. But they're not from me."

I probably should have known. Peter wasn't really a flowers kind of guy. "Edward, then?"

"Yes." Peter looked immensely uncomfortable. "They can also mean unrequited love. I guess he's not so bad."

I grinned. "If I'd known all he had to do was send flowers—"

"Oh, stop it."

Laughing kind of made me feel like my head would explode. I lost my breath in the chuckles and had to fight for air.

"Hey, now," Peter said. He reached back to wriggle his arm beneath my neck and helped me sit up for a moment. He ran his palm in a firm line up and down my arm. "Take it easy, or Carlisle won't let me in here anymore. He's already angry enough over the whole sucking you half-dry thing. I'm on strike three, after this morning."

"You really should stop antagonizing everyone. I'd prefer if they liked you."

Peter scoffed. "I can't help that it's so easy."

"You are definitely the only person in the world who thinks getting Carlisle riled up is _easy._ "

"I'm a man of many talents," Peter boasted. "Don't worry, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

The drip I was hooked to careened into the side rail with a crash that brought the nurse on-call running. "I bet. I just bet."

"Rounds in five." She warned Peter with an indulgent smile as she righted the mess of tubing and wires connecting me to the monitors.

Peter gave the nurse a grateful nod, and waited for her to leave before asking, "Want to go to Forks, once Carlisle lets you out of here?"

I wriggled closer and reached across my chest to clasp Peter's hand in mine. "That sounds wonderful."


	21. Epilogue

Charlie did _not_ like Peter. It was a spectacular brand of hilarious.

The moment he had me alone, Charlie spit out a dozen reasons: He's too old for you; he's too quiet; he's too much like Edward. There wasn't any way for me to contain my laughter at the last one, and I struggled to control myself long enough to say, "He's nothing like Edward. Trust me."

Charlie didn't like that either.

What normally would have been awkward morphed into boundless amusement when I realized that Peter _cared_ that Charlie didn't like him. I was going to have revenge for every single thing Peter had ever done to annoy me, no matter how small. This was _perfect._

We were in Forks for two weeks before heading home to Kansas. We'd be back in a couple of months for Charlie's birthday, and then — well, we were free to do as we pleased. The Nebraska house was still there: ready and waiting, with all the time in the world. I grinned at the thought of limitless visits with Charlie over the next few years.

Charlie had one hand on his hip, the other on his gun holster. He stared Peter down until he looked away. I couldn't wait to tell _everyone_ every single detail of this interrogation, over and over, until they couldn't stand to hear it one more time.

"What do you do for a living, son?" Charlie emphasized the word 'son' to sound more like 'dipshit'. Back when it was Edward he pulled this crap on, I found it embarrassing.

"I'm a private investigator, Sir." Peter must have been off his game, because his nuance wasn't nearly as effective as Charlie's.

I snorted. "Is that what people in the business call bounty hunters?"

Charlie was getting quite good at his exasperated eye roll. "You've got to be kidding me. And just how old are you?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

Peter kicked the heel of his boot into mine and stood a little straighter. "Twenty-five."

Charlie _really_ didn't like that. "So, do you make a habit of befriending teenage girls, then?"

"Hey!" I practically shouted the word into the tension building between them. This was getting to be too dangerous. Time to dial it back. "Why don't you go unload Charlie's present?"

Peter retreated without so much as a snarky word about it. I was never, ever going to let him forget about the time I saved his ass from Charlie.

"Present?" Charlie looked confused. "Bella, you really didn't have to."

"No, no, it's nothing. Just something I wanted you to have."

The time to cool off helped, and Charlie was more flustered than furious by the time Peter had maneuvered the picture frame out of the car and into the house. He handed it to me when he came back, and I, in turn, gripped it at the top with both hands and held it out to Charlie.

"What is this?" Charlie asked. He grasped the sides of the frame, took the weight out of my hands, and stepped back—as if the extra distance would answer all his questions.

"I told you, I took some art classes." I shrugged. "I painted that. It's the woods out back." I decided not to say anything about _why_ I'd painted it.

"It's…" Charlie was at a momentary loss. "It's really beautiful, Bells. I'm—" he needed another moment to swallow back his emotion. "I'm proud that you could paint something like this."

Charlie really meant something along the lines of 'I'm proud you can look back at that point in time and not have a meltdown,' but if he wasn't going to say it, I wasn't going to, either.

"Took a while to get there, but I had a lot of help." Peter's rigid posture relaxed when I grinned at him — a happy smile of his own danced over his lips.

Charlie cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the atmosphere. "Guess you two should bring your bags in."

* * *

"I didn't realize you were into '90s cult classics." Mike hit the keys on the register at Newton's without paying attention to what he was doing, alternating between grinning at me and giving Peter long, nervous glances.

I glanced down and repressed a snicker. Reality Bites; Peter's sense of humor was a special kind of beast. "Someone gave it to me as a joke."

Mike laughed too fast and too loud to be anywhere near genuine. "So, how long you in town for? Got any free time for old friends?"

Peter's head cocked to the side — he'd mainly ignored Mike and the other handful of customers in the store. Now he was interested.

"I think I can find some time. We can get everyone together for a bonfire. It'll be a bit cold, but we've partied in worse." Peter would have to survive the night on his own, too, but I was less worried about that part.

"Nice. I'm not off for a few hours, but I'll text you when I'm done and we'll set it up." Mike handed over my change, and the small paper bag full of fly-line for Charlie.

I left with a smile and a wave. Peter left with a scowl.

Back in the car, Peter turned in the passenger seat, examining me as I put on my seatbelt and pulled out of the parking lot. We had one more stop at the grocery store, then back to Charlie's. Tomorrow would be a day with the Cullens. Peter wouldn't admit it, but he was nervous to be in the same room as Carlisle and Jasper.

"You were just being nice back there, right? You're not going to make me go hang out with you and some idiot who wants to lick you up and down—you can pretend all you like, but you're not that mean."

"Well, lucky you, you're not invited at all." I almost missed my turnoff, and had to flip the blinker on, check the mirror, and get over into the right lane in rapid succession. Peter's terrible driving habits were wearing off on me. "You're not allowed on the beach. The whole reservation is vampire-free."

"That's—" Peter scowled. "Now I don't want you to go, either."

"Too bad." I wagged a finger in his direction without looking.

"Maybe I'll just come and get you after a couple of hours. I'm not afraid of dogs."

"Why do you all insist on calling them dogs?" A familiar irritation washed over me.

"Does that bother you?"

Many times Peter had said something similar to me, but this once he seemed more curious than condescending.

"Yes." I debated how much to tell him. "I have friends on the reservation. People who helped me, who cared about me when I didn't care about myself. It was a hard time for me, and there are a handful of ways I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for the Quileute tribe."

Peter backed off. "Would it help if I told you that while I'm not afraid of dogs, adorable puppies terrify me?"

"Making me roll my eyes into the back of my skull while I'm driving isn't the best idea you've ever had." It worked, though. He'd beaten back the funk he'd put me in.

"I'd survive."

"Maybe we should get a puppy. We'll walk it around the neighborhood in a stroller and pretend like it's our baby." The idea was outrageously hilarious. "Can you imagine? Oh, think of all the cute puppy clothes you could put it in."

Peter laughed right along with me. "What if that strange lady at the end of the street wants to set up play dates with her mutts?"

"Cathy?" I asked. "She's not so bad, really."

"Since when?" Peter asked.

"Since she, and everyone else, treated me like a friend when I needed one, despite how hard we tried to drive them all away."

"I see," Peter said. He didn't, not really, but he had a soft, fond smile on his face that meant he understood enough.

We pulled into the grocery store. Once we were out of the car, I grabbed the collar of Peter's shirt and hauled him closer. Our kisses were in the hundreds, but still, that spark from number four remained.

"This is better," Peter said, putting a bit of distance between us before changing his mind and diving right back in. "This is way better than bonfires and pimply boys, don't you think?"

I ran my fingers through his hair—tugged a bit on the ends and nipped at his bottom lip. Peter wrapped an arm around me and lifted until only my toes touched the ground. He kissed the corner of my mouth and brought us cheek to cheek. "We can get a puppy, if you want. I'll even let you bring it in the house."

"Mhmm…" I hummed. "And what will I owe you for this generosity?"

"Lots and lots and lots—" Peter punctuated each word with a slow, easy spin in place. I bent my knees to keep from scraping my toes on the pavement. "—of the _really_ fun kinds of favors."

I laughed. "We're too selfish for pets, anyway. Maybe we should have a test run with a houseplant and see if it survives. But I'm open to negotiating for the favors."

Peter laughed and hugged me closer. "I am _happy_ with you."

I buried my face in the crook of his neck and grinned. My arms squeezed tighter. "And I am happy with you."

Peter let me down, but kept me held close. "I'm sorry for taking so long to find those words. For taking so long to figure out what you mean to me."

Something deep within me, some constant turmoil that had dictated far more of my actions than I cared to admit, gave one last shudder and settled. It was a strange feeling — warm and peaceful, and sure.

"Fine." I huffed, pretending to be put out while my stomach did gleeful cartwheels. "I guess I can forgive you for that, too. But you have to come to Thanksgiving with Charlie next year. And Christmas, with Alice."

"That's not fair," Peter whined. "There's only so much of Alice anyone can reasonably be expected to deal with."

"And she is _extra_ special on gift-giving occasions," I pointed out, feeling diabolical. Served him right for traumatizing all the neighborhood children on Halloween.

"Fine. For you." Peter agreed. His fingers wound between mine; I'd been loved before, but I'd never felt it like this. "I don't know if I like this thing where you have endless time to do whatever you want, anymore. Feels like I'm going to regret it."

"For years and years and years," I agreed. This conversation wasn't exactly new for us, but we kept it purposefully vague. There were years, plural, and that was all that mattered at the moment. "Then what? I'm sure you have all sorts of plans to get me back for holidays with the Cullens, birthday parties with Charlie, and bonfires with werewolves."

"Not really. After is after. Until then, both our heads are on the chopping block, I guess." Peter shrugged and pulled me closer again. "Someone will step in to take power — Caius or Marcus, probably, maybe one of the remaining guard — and who knows? Maybe they'll want to come calling, but what does it matter?" He brushed the hair from my face before stealing another kiss. "They'll never find us."


	22. Outtake: The Kelly Criterion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Peter thing.

The wide, open ground floor of the factory rests on the edge of a razor blade. Dust floats down from the metal rafters above in waves. In front of Peter stand three vampires, their attention focused on the tasty morsel he dumped at his feet. The Volturi may as well be on strings for how easy it is.

This plan has been simmering for days, now, but it wasn't until Peter was lucky enough to draw responsibility for finding a rendezvous point that he began to seriously consider it. It started with a wriggling notion: if he can control enough of the encounter, can he ensure the outcome he wants? It's risky, and a high wager, but without any brats involved who think their gifts make everyone around them invincible, Peter and Jasper can get this job done.

Peter's muscles are tense. Expectations are high, but he's run the odds—done nothing but for over five hours—and Jasper can almost always turn a longshot into a victory. Peter regrets not looping him in—but every second up until he pulled Bella out of the car and committed to this course of action was spent teetering side-to-side, unsure, and afraid. The freedom to chicken out was appealing; the flip side is now he has to trust Jasper to size everything up in a glance.

Any second… any second now… _There_. Unease floods the space, washing straight up to the tops of the windows. Nausea roils in Peter's gut. He feels sick, queasy—tired… he brushes it away. Jasper always does make the best entrances.

As one, the Volturi turn to assess this new threat. None of them are so much as looking at him. Jane, Aro, and Renata—all three focus entirely on Jasper. Their legs twitch, fingers curl into claws. Peter allows himself to fall into the same stance, ready, waiting… They're on a clock here, but the timing has to be perfect.

Jasper starts running his mouth as hard as he can; Peter knew he'd get it. He keeps one eye on Bella, and the other on Renata; he has to wait for the exact moment Renata goes after Jasper, or this will all be for nothing. Bella's face down, scratching at the dirty floor absentmindedly. She probably thinks she's flailing about, but she's too tired from blood loss and Jasper to pull it off. She's still got some time, but Peter doesn't want to cut it close.

Finally, Jasper hits the bulls-eye. Renata moves. Peter _charges_. None of them see it coming.

It's not until the proverbial dust has settled that Jasper rounds on him, but Peter has more important things to focus on. He ruthlessly quashes the bitter panic and accompanying guilt gnawing for attention; he needs to _focus._

"You _motherfucker._ " Jasper snarls. "That was too risky, even for us."

"Shut up and knock her out, Jasper." There's no reason to keep Bella conscious for this, she'll have an easier time asleep. Bella's breath stutters and Peter swears both their hearts stop for a split-second before he eases her onto her back. If Peter has to listen to her struggle for another inhale, he's going to lose it.

Jasper maintains the steady stream of dirty looks and furious emotional climate as he rips up flooring and knocks down support beams to kindle the fire he's building, but he pulls it together long enough to put Bella under. Her breathing evens back out. For now. The wound on her neck is something else, though. It's an angry, jagged tear; the worst of it sealed off by his venom, but vicious all the same. It looks more fragile than it did five minutes ago when tension slithered through the atmosphere and kept him focused on what lay ahead. Peter's faintly embarrassed of how sloppy a job he did, though it'll be easier to pass off this way.

Jasper finishes dealing with the remains of the Volturi and heads to the far wall to retrieve an old, rusted fire extinguisher. Peter is sure Jasper's just as surprised as he is that it still works. "What would you have done if it was busted?"

"Let it burn, I guess. No one is going to come out here without a reason." Jasper's halfway out the door with his phone to his ear. His other arm twitches, and Peter spies a new wound added to the collection. Sometimes, Peter thinks Jasper collects those bite marks of his on purpose. He's utterly incapable of a clean job at any rate.

Peter lifts Bella into his arms, cradling her neck, and follows Jasper out the broken front doors fluttering on their hinges. Perhaps he'd been a touch over-dramatic about the whole thing. "Van Buren County Hospital. Take Highway 1."

Jasper's already relaying the information over the phone to Carlisle. "She's going to need a transfusion." Jasper seethes, no doubt realizing that Peter selected a meeting point with hardly anything in every direction, except for a twenty-four-hour emergency room. He adds, "I don't think you want to know the details until she's stable. Someone needs to get out here to clean up, too. We don't have time for any more than the necessities."

Peter hears Carlisle mention Edward and Alice, and Jasper shakes his head before waving an arm in the air from the driver's side of the car. Peter fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them over before loading Bella into the backseat and sliding in after her. He wants to get away from the stench of burnt flesh and the memory of Bella rambling incoherent nonsense about snow and liars.

It's the most awkward car ride Peter has ever had in his, admittedly, long life. Jasper is pumping out rage so hard and fast, Peter worries he might put Bella into cardiac arrest. "Get yourself under control."

Jasper gives him a nasty look in the mirror for that one. Peter busies himself with dressing Bella's wound with the first-aid kit he'd stashed in the car the day before. It had originally been a precaution, but that was before Peter started factoring Jasper's aptitude under pressure into his scheming. The extra sterile pads and tape arrived later, after he realized they had a rather efficient solution to their problem staring them in the face.

Jasper drives like the police don't have a chance in hell at catching him, even if they did give chase. In record time, Jasper's slamming on the brakes and wrecking the hell out of Peter's tires. The car is lined up perfectly with the side entrance to the emergency room. Peter wonders if this is the same thing they did back in Phoenix; if this is a routine the Cullens have found themselves unfortunately familiar with. He ignores the nurse armed with a wheelchair and thrilled to be trusted with it, navigates Bella out of the car himself, and carries her inside. There's no chance he'll let her out of his grasp until he's looking whoever Carlisle pulled a favor from in the eye.

A second nurse smiles at him with a soft and understanding nod inside the building. Accompanying her is a frazzled doctor so green Peter bets he still hasn't figured out how to do his laundry by himself. The kid has a pea-sized zit on the tip of his nose and is fidgeting so much Peter wrestles with the idea of using the bungee cables in his trunk to tie him up. Peter shifts his weight, ready to play keep away if he has to. Jasper comes to a halt next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Carlisle is coming, right?"

Even though the question is meant for Jasper, the nurse answers. "Doctor Cullen gave very specific instructions. Don't worry, we're going to take care of your—"

"I'm her husband." Peter knew that would come in handy. He can prove it, too, for both Jan Brady and Bella Swan. It's a _slightly_ different Bella Swan—different social and totally fake—but he'd prefer not to admit this particular safety net. Who knows what sort of crazy shit Bella would inflict on him as retribution for stealth marrying her. In Kansas, she'd already made her way from childish pranks to frat-boy level bullshit, and Peter's a little wary of raising those stakes when she's so enthusiastic about the game.

"Your wife is in good hands. We're going to take her back, and we'll let you know her status as soon as we can."

"You, specifically, will stay with her?" Peter has fewer objections to leaving Bella in their care if this is the case, and to his relief, the nurse nods. The wheelchair comes into view, and this time he lets them whisk Bella away. Two clipboards stuffed with papers appear in his hands, and suddenly it all comes crashing in. He sinks into a chair by the door and watches Jasper, arms over his chest, do the same across from him.

"Breathe, Peter," Jasper speaks quietly, without looking at him. "It's out of your hands now. Just breathe."

Peter feels like he's on the receiving end of a defibrillator. The air he gasps into his lungs tastes of disinfectant, but the next one comes easier, and so does the one after.

An hour passes, and Jasper gets a text, but it's another twenty minutes before he has mercy and admits the message was from Carlisle, and Bella is stable. Peter starts filling out the paperwork so he has something to occupy his hands. Carlisle would probably take care of it if Peter wanted to be difficult, but it seems pointless. The whole lot of them are going to be after his head, anyway.

The nurse from earlier—the friendly one who seemed like she knew what she was doing—retrieves him a little after eight in the morning. Carlisle stands back a few paces, lips pressed together and silently disapproving, but not wanting to out Peter as a liar rather than a devoted husband. Seems Peter gets to keep his embarrassing forgeries to himself for another day. He follows the pair of them through the wide, winding hallways; Jasper keeps pace a handful of steps back.

"She lost a lot of blood," Carlisle says. He softens up as he explains, that instinctual doctor's calm coming out to play. "Around thirty-five percent of the circulating volume. She needed a transfusion, and she's stable. We're hoping she'll wake up this morning or this afternoon. Overall, I feel optimistic. Once she wakes up, I think she'll be in the clear."

Bella's in about the shape Peter expected. She's propped up by an army of pillows, and her hair is brushed free of dirt and tangles—Carlisle's wife's doing, Peter is sure. The monitors confirm what Carlisle has been saying, she's doing alright. Once Peter has convinced himself that she's not about to die and has been relatively well cared for, he allows himself to acknowledge the elephant in the room that has both Jasper and Carlisle glaring daggers at him.

There's a large, white bandage covering purple and black bruises spread all over Bella's neck, collarbone, and shoulder. Peter hopes it's one of those things that looks worse than it is, but it doesn't seem likely. He can't deal with it right now, but at least it seems like no one else wants to, either. Still, the fluorescent lights do him no favors with how brutal the wound looks. That uneasy anxiety claws for his attention again.

It's easy to wait everyone out to get some privacy. The hospital staff clears out with Carlisle, other patients to worry about, and Jasper takes his leave not long after. Peter snaps the curtains closed despite how gloomy the weather is, and claims the chair across from the door. After a moment he kicks his feet up on the bed—some ridiculous show of marking his territory—and refuses to move an inch.

When Carlisle returns to check on Bella, they're immediately in a standoff. Carlisle watches him with a steady and analytical gaze, and Peter stares right back. Apparently, Jasper has filled Carlisle in on what happened. He notices when Bella wakes, but so does Carlisle, and Peter is not about to lose this battle of wills. She's still half-under and doped up to hell, anyway.

"Peter." Bella's voice is raspy and weak. "Peter, get your feet off the damn bed. Isn't it enough you ripped my throat out?"

Carlisle's growl, Peter supposes, is like Halley's comet. Once, maybe twice in a lifetime. Carlisle lets Peter keep his obnoxious attitude for another handful of minutes, and then, it's spirited away by the sound of Edward approaching. "I just came to let you know Alice and Edward are all right. And to check on Bella, of course."

It's with a different type of gaze that Peter watches Carlisle look over his patient and depart in favor of talking to his adopted son. Their conversation is nothing new; Carlisle fills Edward in on Bella's condition, and Edward relays his escapades with Alice in Volterra. Peter doesn't care enough to be bothered with eavesdropping.

There's too much space to think. It's frighteningly easy to posit all the ways things could go wrong now that Bella's laying in front of him, prone and helpless. He can't change her, can't let anyone else step in and do it, either. She said no; he'll have to help her fight it out as a human. Rationally, he knows that if she takes a turn and is actually _dying_ , then not only do the previous rules no longer apply, but Carlisle will take care of business whether Peter likes it or not. Peter wouldn't interfere, would welcome that responsibility ripped from his hands, but thinking on it feels like betraying an agreement Peter has already played fast and loose with.

The possibilities fire back and forth, each pessimistic and ending in death. By the time Edward decides to make his appearance, Peter has worked himself into a frenzy running through every outcome he can think of and calculating how much he's willing to bet on each one.

Peter is ready for this fight; he's spoiling for it a bit. Any second now Edward is going to try to throw this in his face, and Peter will hurl it straight back. Edward has _no clue_ what went down at that factory, or how this might have played out if Peter hadn't decided to raise the stakes to ensure a better outcome.

None of them had been thinking straight. They didn't see how much they had to adapt to the changing situation, and not one of them had taken Bella's refusal seriously. They all went into their respective battles blinded by the assumption that they had a plan b if the human became collateral damage. Peter can forgive Jasper and Alice for it, but Edward? Edward was there when Bella finally decided to stand up and fight.

The unbidden image of Bella scratching the dirt and whining about liars floats to the forefront of his thoughts, along with the wretched churning in his gut he's been trying like hell to ignore for the past fourteen hours. In a rare bout of sympathy, Peter realizes that Edward _does_ understand exactly what it's like to kneel over Bella, passed out and anemic, and have to get her through it, alive.

"Do not compare what you did to what I had to do in Phoenix." Edward snarls. In one motion he kicks the door shut and snaps the blinds closed, and in the next second, he has his fingers twisted in the collar of Peter's shirt.

Peter's not paying enough attention; this new development is infuriating. He is _done_ with all these fucking _Cullens._ His eyes narrow, but his voice stays deliberately calm and even. "If you don't want to be thrown out the window, I would suggest you shut the fuck up and sit down."

Bella will be just fine, Peter knows this, but he can't help the frenzy churning away in his belly. Edward's presence is nothing but a reminder that this sort of thing seems to keep happening to her, and it only serves to drive his anxiety forward. It doesn't help that she's clearly on the upswing, or that Carlisle is optimistic. He feels compelled toward an outrageous amount of fretting, and it's too distracting.

The memories smother him: Bella clutching his arm crossed over her chest to keep her still; that moment when she realized exactly what was about to happen and clenched her jaw so hard Peter swore he heard a tooth crack; and the awful, gut-wrenching panic that's slowly escaping the lock-down he imposed over it. No, it doesn't matter that she's going to be okay, because all Peter can think about is that he's not going to survive it if she dies. On the bright side, he's certainly ensured mutual destruction from an impressive number of sources. Too bad Jasper would never let it happen the easy way.

"It figures," Edward says, tightening his grip, "this is the one time your thoughts are clear and easy to read."

"I have more important things to worry about than keeping you out of my head," Peter replies from between clenched and bared teeth.

Whatever retort Edward has queued up is knocked to the side by Jasper, for once not making an entrance, but choosing to wait quietly until he's noticed. Edward loosens his fist and takes a long step back, never taking his eyes off Peter.

"Esme wants to talk to you," Jasper says, nodding toward Edward. His expression tightens. "And it's time for you and me to have a chat, Peter."

The thing about Jasper that most people don't realize is that he's more emotional than he'd have them believe—he's just adept at hiding it. Right now he's pulled taut, unwilling to give anything away, but Peter sees the little cracks in his demeanor. If Peter didn't know him so well, he'd think Jasper hadn't decided how pissed off to be, yet, but Peter knows better than anyone else just how much indignation is simmering in his old friend on behalf of his… well, Peter's not sure what she is to either of them, anymore.

"Let's get this over with," Peter grumbles. There's no avoiding it, better to get it out of the way now, when Bella is more likely to stay asleep.

They move a fair ways from the hospital. Five miles further than they need to go, they turn to face each other under the dreary winter sun blotted away by the clouds. The sun is starting to come out again, but the forecast is largely overcast with a little snow when the temperature drops low enough. Peter didn't plan on an extended stay in Iowa, but he accounted for the possibility; they'll have decent freedom of movement, here. Better than Kansas, at any rate, but that's a low bar.

Peter knows where the conversation is going. He doesn't want to waste the time getting there, so he starts at the end. "I'll make it up to her."

"You owe her a liter and a half of blood." Jasper's fingers curl into fists. Now that they're free of witnesses, Jasper's body language has intensified. He looks ready to snap at the slightest provocation. "How can you even _begin_ to make that right?"

"She understands." Peter spits the words out, frustrated that Jasper is still stuck on his anger and can't see what's in front of him. "You think I've done some horrible thing to her, and yeah, it wasn't the greatest, but she knows that sometimes we have to do terrible things to save the people we love."

He waits for a beat, to see if the confession does the job. It's a cheap trick, but the sentiment is genuine; it's worth a try.

Jasper scoffs. "Please. You're not getting out of this with such a pathetic attempt at manipulation. I already know you love her, dumbass. Too bad you're too chicken-shit to even tell her that much."

They're at a standoff again.

"I'll tell her," Peter says. Jasper continues to stare, unimpressed. "I'll apologize, too."

"And then you will cater to her every single fucking whim until she has replaced every last blood cell you devoured." Jasper's advancing again, intent on some sort of bodily harm to punctuate his demand.

Peter rolls his eyes and shoves Jasper back a step. Jasper must not be set on violence yet, because he lets him instead of lashing back. "Only if you want her to run me over with the car. Jesus, Jasper, she doesn't want to be coddled and spoiled. She just wants to be treated with respect."

"Do you somehow think it was respectful to suck half her circulating blood volume out of her without even asking first?"

"No, the _respectful_ part was making sure she _lived through it._ " It takes a moment, but Peter wrestles his fury under control. Jasper may have formed a friendly relationship with Bella, but he doesn't get her, not the way Peter does. He didn't watch her tread water for almost six months until her arms and legs were too exhausted to stay afloat—and he didn't have to stand back and let her flail about, hopeless and helpless, screaming that she didn't need a life jacket. All Jasper saw was the eleventh hour, when Bella finally accepted that she didn't want to drown.

For the second time, Peter is struck with the sympathetic realization that this must have been how Jasper felt watching him wither away for the past forty years. He throws the notion to the side; he doesn't want to think about what his life had been like, not ever again.

"She has a _life_ now. She can do whatever she wants. No one and nothing is breathing down her neck, making everything feel completely pointless. The only thing keeping her going was that she promised her father she'd come home. Don't you get it? There was no safety net if things went wrong."

"I think I still have to hit you," Jasper says after digesting that tidbit. "Emmett's going to want a piece, too. And Carlisle, amazingly enough—how the _hell_ did you manage to piss him off so much? Not to mention Alice. So, let's just go line everybody up so they can take their shot at the giant asshole who thought 'Hey, you know what's a great idea? Let's half-kill our favorite human.'"

"Stop rounding up! Thirty-five percent, you heard it as well as I did. You make it sound so much more demented than it really was."

Jasper's fist promptly introduces itself to Peter's face. Peter sees stars for the first time in decades. "If anything, I'm toning it down."

"Fuck, man, that actually hurt!"

" _Good_."

"Do you feel better now?"

"A little," Jasper admits. He shakes out his hand even though there's no point to it. Peter always figured Jasper must have gotten into at least as many fights as a human as he does now. "Please tell me she at least saw it coming."

Peter thinks she did. He wasn't all that composed on the trip, or upon arrival. Then again, Bella had obviously been struggling to ignore every warning sign. "She didn't want to see it, but she knew something was in the works and it'd be rough. She got in the car and said she trusted me. I had to let that be enough, or I don't think I could have followed through."

"So, I can pretend that when she told me it was okay, she knew what she was talking about?" Jasper asks, and it becomes apparent he's experiencing some regrets.

"You're wishing you'd insisted she went with you?"

"She wanted to stay in the car." It's all Jasper will say on the matter, but Peter doesn't need clarification; he saw it, too. He saw how Bella opened the door because she wanted to listen to their conversation but wouldn't so much as take her seat belt off. Even if Jasper had insisted, one of them would have had to drag her out of there.

Finally, Jasper backs down. "Let's be clear: if she asks me to hurt you, I will say _yes._ "

This is something Peter can get on board with. "Deal."

"No limit, Peter. She doesn't have to ask today, or next year, or in a decade. If she ever asks me to fuck you up, I will do so."

That's less agreeable, but Peter figures he should take what he can get. "Fine. We done here?"

Jasper glances up at the sky and rolls his shoulders. He's loosening up, now that they're both sure this conversation won't come to any more blows. "Not quite yet. I promised Edward an hour."

If it were anyone other than Jasper, the betrayal would be white-hot and all-consuming, but like Peter was willing to go all-in on Jasper understanding his show for the Volturi, Jasper knows Peter can see he owes this to Edward. It won't make a lick of difference, anyway. Nothing Edward says or does will change that Bella has already determined her path forward. The only thing that has a hope of making a difference is how she feels about Peter's ruthless gambit in that dusty parking lot. Peter's betting she forgives him, but this wager is much lower than the rest. If she doesn't, well, it's not like Peter's never had to try to live around something like this before. The important parts all worked out, that's what matters. Bella might not even wake up before Edward's hour is up, anyway.

"I get it. That's fair."

Jasper flashes a grin and says, "Sorry," in that smart-ass way of his where he's only saying it to draw attention to how much he _doesn't_ mean it. Jasper's grin morphs into something delighted. "Oh, and just so you know, Charlie Swan? That man is going to _shoot you_."

"Good thing I can run fast." Peter lets loose a shit-eating grin of his own. He'd love to meet the man.

Jasper chuckles and takes a few steps backward before turning and leading the way back. The pace is slow and leisurely—Edward still has fifteen minutes. "I don't think running will save you. There just ain't no getting away with cradle-robbing the chief of police. You think Bella is stubborn? She got it from him."

The hospital is in view when Jasper comes to an abrupt halt and quietly admits, "I don't agree with your methods, and you should have given me better than the pitiful warning you did—but thank you for having my back, and for having Bella's, too. Thanks for making sure she had a say over her destiny."

"Any time and every time." Peter doesn't break stride, he keeps walking straight past where Jasper has stopped. There is no outward indication of the weight of the sentiment, but Jasper remembers this promise between them just as well as Peter does. The question doesn't matter; the answer is always 'yes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: When I opened this back up and finished it in May, I immediately found a note that said, “Peter is deeply offended that he sparkles.”
> 
> And then I laughed. I laughed for about four days straight.


End file.
